Callender, Velda Idalia

Callender, Velda Idalia
24 Apr

Velda Idalia Callender, age 70, of Lot 62, Mangrove Park, St. Philip; formerly of Church Village, St. Philip, Wife of Noel Erskine Callender, Mother of Sheila and Michael Shepherd, Grandmother of Nyasha Foster, Mikeda, Nakya and Malika Shepherd, Loreal Kirton, Mikal Worrell and Celina Shepherd of the U.S.A. Great-Grandmother of Xakeda, Xakiah and Xamaia Worrell, Sister of Calvin Pilgrim, Oveda Gittens, Evans Pilgrim of the U.K. and the late Mildred Goodridge, Aunt of Pauline Benjamin, Pamela Headley, Tony and Donald Pilgrim, Dennis, David, Douglas and Donavan Goodridge, Hondell Pilgrim, Lemuel Gittens and many others, Cousin of many, Mother-in-law of Sharon Shepherd, Sister-in-law of Monica, Judy, Ronald and Olga Callender, Margo Robinson and Dorothy Pilgrim, Relative of the Shepherd, Pilgrim, Goodridge and Callender families, Friend of Margaret, Mary, Mrs. Manning, Berwin, Vonnie, Mrs. Smith, Cynthia, Loretta, Inez, Terry, Mrs. Mayers, Ms. Young and many others...

The funeral of Velda Idalia Callender leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Thursday 26th April, 2018 at 2:30 p.m. for St. Philip Parish Church, Church Village, St. Philip, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 4:00 p.m. for service, followed by the interment in the churchyard.

The organist and choir members are asked to attend.

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home not later than 2:00 p.m. on Thursday.

Online condolences can be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.