Frances Camilla Adams

In Loving Memory of Frances Camilla Adams

1936 - 2026

Frances Camilla Adams, a loving and devoted wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, and friend, passed away peacefully on January 3, 2026, at the age of 89.

Born on September 28, 1936, in Roanoke, Texas, Frances was the daughter of James and Ruby Atkins, who both preceded her in death. Frances was also preceded in death by her son, Ted Eugene Adams, and her husband of 60 years, Donald C. Adams, who she happened to meet in church. Also preceded her in death was her three brothers and one sister.

She is survived by her daughter and son-in-law, Debra Lamb and Tim Lamb of Godley, TX. Grandchildren; Kenda and Jon Ward of Granbury, TX, Dwayne and Tammy Ferguson of Godley, TX. Her great grandchildren include Kolton Ferguson, Kassidi Ferguson, Kannon Ward, Gunner Ward, and Gage Ward. She also has numerous nieces and nephews.

My mother was one of those rare people whose presence alone made you feel safe. You didn’t have to ask for comfort—it just happened the moment she walked into a room.

She was gentle, kind, and patient in a way that never needed to announce itself. I never once saw her truly angry. Frustrated? Yes—because she was human. But anger? Never. What she carried instead was grace… and plenty of it.

She had a calm, loving soul that even animals trusted. This is the woman who found a parakeet in the driveway, picked it up, and gave it a home. She also held hummingbirds in her hands. Hummingbirds. Who does that? Apparently, my mother. If animals had a Yelp review system, she’d have five stars and a “most soothing human” badge.

She was also a quiet warrior. A fierce protector wrapped in gentleness, wearing the armor of God. When she set her mind to something, nothing stopped her. She didn’t need volume or force—she had wisdom, humor, and a soft voice that somehow carried authority. She had our utmost respect, and she earned every bit of it.

Now… she was stubborn—but in the sweetest way possible. The kind of stubborn that stands firm without ever being harsh. The kind that says, “I’ll help in any way I can,” and actually means it. Especially when it came to her family. She quietly supported several charities because she loved knowing that, in some small way, she was making a difference in the world.

Her faith was strong—rock solid. She loved God deeply and lived that love daily. Her Bible, her devotionals, and her prayers were part of her everyday rhythm. She had the heart of a servant and the faith of a lion. She prayed without ceasing, trusted God through every season, and walked humbly the entire way.

She worked hard her entire life and retired from Bell Helicopter after nearly 40 years of dedication. But no matter how much she worked, our parents always made sure we had what we needed. Maybe not everything we wanted—but we never went without what mattered most: unconditional love.

Every year, our parents made sure we took family vacations—camping trips to some of the most beautiful places—creating memories that still make us laugh today. She endured our silly jokes with patience and laughter.

One time, my dad poured an entire ice tray down her back, and the chase that followed through the house was legendary. Another time—on a camping trip—my dad “gunned” a trail bike and launched her right off the back before they even left the campsite. We laughed until our stomachs hurt… and she just got up, climbed back on, and kept going. That was her. A warrior who refused to let anything steal her joy.

She loved our dad deeply—so deeply that she faced her fears and put family memories ahead of her anxiety. Love always won with her.

She even did things she didn’t really care about—like deer hunting and swimming—just to be part of the experience. She couldn’t swim, but once she had a life jacket on and knew she wasn’t going to drown, she was getting in that lake. Period.

And then there was dancing. She loved it. She and my dad danced together for years, and we always loved watching them. They bowled in leagues with their friends and never missed that weekly outing. She was so good at bowling, she even appeared on Bowling for Dollars. Yes—my mom was kind, faithful, and a minor celebrity.

She also had a sense of humor that could catch you completely off guard. One time, while critiquing an Arkansas Razorbacks game, she said, “My goodness, he was supposed to pick that ball up and take it for a touchdown.” She got so tickled at herself—like people didn’t already know that was the goal—that we laughed until we cried. And honestly, those were some of the best moments.

She sacrificed deeply for her family. When my brother was paralyzed in a work accident, the pain of not being able to fix it nearly broke her—but she never wavered. She did everything she could to make his life easier. When we lost our home and everything we owned in a fire, she prayed for us and offered help with the tenderness and love that only she could give.

She loved being part of her children’s, grandchildren’s, and great-grandchildren’s lives. She was included in everything—and she felt loved and appreciated.

I always included her when I started a new crochet project. She helped me pick colors, yarn, and embellishments. She was fascinated by the process—and completely shocked when I had to rip things out and start over. I’d tell her, “It’s okay—it has to be right,” and she always understood. I took pride in my work because she taught us to. And she cared deeply about the things that mattered to me or anyone else she loved.

She lived her life according to God’s design for family. She was selfless and virtuous—a helper to my dad, a devoted wife, and a beautiful example of love lived out through faith.

So when you think of my mother, remember this:

She loved with everything she had—and then some. She lived with patience, kindness, humor, quiet strength, and unwavering faith. Her soft voice spoke volumes. She treated everyone with respect. And above all else, she loved God—and she loved her family fiercely.

She lived well. She loved well. And she leaves behind a legacy of grace.

As we say goodbye today, we take comfort in knowing that her faith is now sight. She lived a life rooted in love, humility, and service, and she finished her race with grace. The legacy she leaves behind isn’t found in things, but in the hearts she shaped, the prayers she lifted, and the love she gave so freely. We grieve her absence, but we rejoice in the promise that she is now home—fully healed, fully whole, and held in the arms of the God she loved so deeply.

And knowing her, she’s already settled in, making friends, keeping everyone calm—and probably reminding them that yes… you are supposed to pick up the ball and run it to the end zone.