Karen Noah Reed, 68, of Dawson Springs, KY passed away at her home on February 11, 2024 at 11:30pm.
She was born on October 18, 1955 in Fort Campbell, KY to the late Lyle and Margaret Noah of Dawson Springs. She was preceded in death by her granddaughter Angela Hendrix.
She is lovingly remembered by her husband Steven L. Reed, her children, Rachel Tolliver of Cedar Glen, CA; Sarah Bays of Lancaster, CA; and Nicholas Grant of Gallatin, TN; her brother, Steven Noah of Charlotte, NC and her sister, Michelle Carroll of Dawson Springs; and her 7 grandchildren.
In her professional life, Karen was a nurse extraordinaire who could find a vein faster than you could say "ouch." She brought laughter and band-aids to countless patients, along with a never-ending supply of questionable hospital coffee. Her wit was as sharp as her syringes, and her bedside manner could cure even the grumpiest of souls.
Karen traded her stethoscope for a glue gun and joined a wild group of Facebook crafters who became dear friends. She could turn a simple piece of paper into a masterpiece with just a bottle of glue and a dream. She leaves behind a trail of handmade cards, each one a testament to her creativity and love for spreading cheer.
When she wasn't crafting heartfelt masterpieces, you could find her binge-watching her favorite sitcoms or quoting hilarious one-liners from any of her many cherished comedies. She believed that laughter was the best medicine, closely followed by a well-timed greeting card.
Karen was the undisputed champion of baby rocking and burping. With decades of experience under her belt, she could soothe a crying infant to sleep in 5 minutes flat, though to be honest, it might have been her snoring that would ease them to sleep. Her husband Steve affectionately called her "Baby Doll" because much like those dolls that closed their eyes as you laid them down, Karen had a knack for falling asleep almost instantly. In any case, it wasn't just her kids and grandkids that benefited from her maternal magic; nieces, nephews, cousins and really any child within arm's reach could benefit when Nana was near.
It's truly a shame the name "Karen" has gained such negative notoriety because clearly, they've never encountered this Karen, who'd much rather, and often did, ask to speak to the manager to give praise for an employee's awesome job than for a complaint.
Those who knew her were devastated to hear the news of her metastasized lung cancer, an indication highlighting the profound impact she had on those who knew her. While she may not have had as much time as others, she filled the time she did have with love and laughter. And her friends and family will say no matter how much time we had, it would never have been enough.
Her obsession with French vanilla creamer and Bob Evan's mashed potatoes (that she lovingly called "crack" potatoes) was unrivaled. Clearly she loved the finer (and creamier) things in life.
She never met a stranger and if she liked you, she became a true-blue, one-in-a-million friend. Many have said Karen was their best friend, and it's no wonder why – her friendship was rarer than seeing her drink a Pepsi and more precious than a winning lottery ticket.
She effortlessly balanced the roles of parent and friend for her children, creating a bond built on laughter and cherished inside jokes. Before I'd ever ask her for anything during my teen years, I'd playfully tease, "Mom, your hair is looking particularly lovely today." It became our inside joke, a lighthearted way of buttering her up before making a request and it still made her laugh up until the very end. Her life was full of inside jokes but she wouldn't hesitate to let you in on the joke if you were near and interested, and sometimes it didn't even need to be both. She was the most sincere, genuinely down-to-Earth, warm and caring person many have ever met. And to quote a family member, "She was a good woman, I don't care what anyone else says."
And just in case you were wondering; Yes, her hair was looking particularly lovely that day. Save a spot for us beside you, Mom. We'll miss you terribly.
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