Vivian Diane Taylor

Vivian Diane Taylor (née Yates) was born June 4th, 1941, in Maryville, Tennessee to her mother, Elizabeth "Hassie" Yates. Raised in Knoxville and Memphis by her beloved Hassie and family friend Elaine Conlee, Vivian grew up with music in her soul, laughter on the tip of her tongue, and an iron backbone.

As a girl, Vivian would push all the furniture in her living room to the side, put on music, and dance for the joy of dancing. Her love of music endured through her life; she could often be heard whistling or humming with a little boogie in her step. Vivian used to say that she felt the music in her heart when her uncle Joe Stuart, the most versatile sideman in bluegrass history, would play the banjo for her. Throughout her life, if a song on the radio brought her back to her younger years, she would close her eyes and smile while singing along.

Vivian shared stories of the harmless mischief and good trouble she caused during her adolescence. Growing up in the South in the years leading to the Civil Rights movement, Vivian possessed a natural, quiet progressiveness. She embodied the most important values of her faith by treating people from all walks of life with kindness, dignity, and humanity.

She then met Robert Michael "Mike" Taylor, the man whom she would marry and who would take her West to California. Though the marriage didn't last, it gave her the four most precious reasons for living: her children, Tammy, Becky, Mike, and Scott. As a single mother, Vivian worked as an accounting clerk for Mercy Hospital for more than 30 years and attended night classes to obtain a college education. She was selfless, and she was strong. She provided everything she could through sheer grit and modeled an unbreakable work ethic, constantly inspiring her children to strive for better. To the very end, she maintained that of all her accomplishments, her children were her proudest achievements and greatest motivation.

Vivian lived and loved loudly, unabashedly. She was wickedly and effortlessly funny. She lived through hardship with a sense of humor and moderate swearing. She was known for a collection of quirky sayings like 'Lord, love a duck!' or describing something as being 'like a fart in a skillet.' Anybody who heard her laugh laughed with her. Vivian taught all the women in her life the best qualities of womanhood: being fiery, taking no shit, and savoring life's simple pleasures.

She found joy in the quiet corners of life. Vivian found serenity in her garden, watching the hummingbirds, dragonflies, and butterflies dance amongst her plants. She delighted in playing a game of softball. She treasured the steadfast companionship of her dogs and cats. Her cup truly ran over on those rare movie nights, with a bowl of popcorn in hand, and all her children piled around her on a bean bag. And boy howdy, did she love a good meal! It was no secret when Vivian liked the food on her plate, making little noises of contentment with each bite and always finding room for a second helping.

Vivian made everyone feel respected, cared for, and understood. While she never forgot the hardships of the past, she generously chose a path of forgiveness and friendship with Mike in their later years. She was the unique sort of person who could be both tough-as-nails and the safest place to rest your head for scratches. To her grandchildren, she became the woman of many titles: Grandma, Memaw, Granny, Gramma, and Gigi. Though the names were different, the feeling of being fiercely loved and cared for was universal.

After struggling for many years with failing health, Vivian made the decision to pass, as she lived, on her own terms. She told her family she was ready to go to heaven and that she was going home to her Lord. She took her final breaths on March 28th, 2026, at 10:55 am, surrounded by people who loved her dearly.

She is survived by her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and countless others who loved her as family regardless of blood. We feel her absence keenly, but we take comfort in knowing she is now at peace. Her memory is a blessing that lives on in us whenever we enjoy good food, good music, or a good joke, and every time we think 'shit fire, save matches' at life's minor inconveniences. Bless her little heart!