Patricia “Patti” Palczewski — known to most simply as Grandmommy — passed
away peacefully at home in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, on the evening of Mother’s
Day, Sunday, May 10, 2026, surrounded by the love of her family after years of
facing the devastating, unyielding progression of Alzheimer’s disease. She was 77.
Patti was born on May 16, 1948, in Dover, New Hampshire, to Joseph Leroy
Chandler and Edna Mary (Brennan) Chandler. From her earliest days, she carried a
spark of tenacity and grace that would define every chapter of her life. A sharp
businesswoman and an entrepreneur in the medical device industry, she built a life
on her own terms — driven by an unshakable will to take care of the people she
loved.
Patti had a fiery temper to match her fiery red hair, and a stubborn streak that ran
just as deep. She was particular about the company she kept and fiercely protective
of the people inside her circle — but when she loved you, she loved you all the
way. There was no halfway with Patti. Her glamour was unmistakable, her loyalty
was absolute, and her opinions were her own.
To her family, she was Grandmommy — a name spoken with the kind of softness
reserved only for the people who shape you. And somewhere along the way, the
name spread well past blood: friends, in-laws, even her caregivers eventually found
themselves calling her Grandmommy too. That was simply who she was — the
matriarch who taught everyone around her what it meant to be strong, stylish, and
unshakably loyal to your own. Among her many loves, she shared a particularly
tender bond with her great-granddaughter Avah, helping to shape the bright,
spirited young person Avah is today.
Outside of family, Patti’s great love was the Kennel Club, where she spent years
showing bulldogs — a world that suited her perfectly: a little glamorous, a little
stubborn, and built on a fierce devotion to the ones she championed.
She also knew how to enjoy a life well lived. Patti loved a good shopping trip, the
bright lights of Las Vegas, and the Jersey Shore — a place she swore was filled
with character, much like herself. They were the kind of escapes where she could
be exactly who she was: stylish, lively, and the most magnetic person in the room.
Even as Alzheimer’s slowly took her memory, it could never take her spirit. In her
final years, she was cared for by family who considered it the highest honor to give
back even a fraction of what she had given them. She passed on Mother’s Day — a
final, fitting tribute to the mother, grandmother, and matriarch she was.
