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Catherine "Kay" Marie Stump
Obituaries | The Tube City Almanac | March 16, 2026
Kay was the most devoted wife, bestest mum to seven, a woman of iron faith, a tender of gardens, a tagger of monarch butterflies, and the kind of person who could make a box of macaroni feel like a five-course meal — because with Kay, it basically was. She was also, on at least one notable occasion, a person who required posting bail — but we'll get to that.
Early in life, Kay discerned a calling to religious life and spent time in a convent, genuinely open to wherever God might lead her. As it turns out, God had a different assignment in mind — one that involved a husband named Bob, seven children, a standing Monday night pot of mac and cheese, and 25+ years of organizing a bus to Washington D.C. The convent's loss was immeasurable. This family's gain, even more so.
Once Kay found her true calling, she gave herself to it with her whole heart and never looked back. Being Mum — and later Grammy, and later still, Great-Grammy — wasn't something Kay did. It was something Kay was, down to her bones.
Kay was a devout Catholic. Her relationship with God was as constant and unquestioned as the sunrise — grounded in daily prayer, the rosary, and the saints who she treated less like distant figures and more like old friends. Sunday Mass was not optional. It was not negotiable. It was not subject to vacation schedules, holiday conflicts, or the general chaos of raising seven children. As Kay made perfectly clear to anyone who suggested otherwise: one does not take a vacation from God.
Kay didn't just believe in "treat others as you would want to be treated." She lived it, daily and without fanfare. She sacrificed constantly and quietly, putting her family's needs so far ahead of her own that the concept of doing something just for herself was practically foreign. Her children, her husband, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren — they were her purpose, her pride, and her greatest joy. She preached the Golden Rule and she practiced it too, which is a rarer combination than it sounds. If you were loved by Kay Stump, you felt it. Not because she said it — though she did — but because she showed it, over and over, in ten thousand small and steady ways.
For more than 25 years, each January, — immediately following what she would have agreed was a deeply exhausting November and December — Kay organized a local bus to the March for Life in Washington D.C. — year after year, without fail, because she believed deeply in the dignity of every human life and she wasn't the type to believe something quietly. She turned her faith into action and her convictions into community, and she did it all with a warmth that made people want to get on the bus.
Kay's commitment to the pro-life movement was not merely organizational. It was, on at least one memorable occasion, arrestable. Kay was among a group of demonstrators who chained themselves to a fence in protest — and were promptly taken into police custody for it. Now, Kay Stump, devout Catholic, mother of seven, organizer of buses, was not exactly the typical holding cell occupant. Her fellow detainees that day happened to be a group of women who had been picked up for entirely different reasons. And in one of the more delightfully unexpected moments in Stump family history, it was those women — the ones yelling at the officers — who became Kay's most vocal defenders, demanding her release and making clear that these protesters were absolutely not criminals. Kay could walk into any room, under any circumstances, and find the humanity in the people around her. Even — especially — the ones nobody else was looking at.
Kay had a gift for finding joy in the quiet, beautiful corners of life. She was an avid gardener and took immense pride in her stunning flower garden on 4th Street — a place of color, care, and no small amount of dedication. But Kay didn't just grow flowers. She raised and tagged monarch butterflies through the Monarch Watch program, carefully tracking their migration and doing her small, steady part to protect something she found genuinely wondrous.
There is something very Kay about that. She had a talent for noticing what others walked past — beauty, need, a butterfly worth saving — and then doing something about it.
When she wasn't in her garden, Kay could be found decorating her home for whatever holiday was on the horizon — and to be clear, all of them were on the horizon, and all of them got the full treatment. You always knew the season had changed on 4th Street. At Christmas, there was no need to check a calendar — you simply listened for the unmistakable sound of Handel's Messiah shaking the walls at full volume through the homemade sound system Bob had built. Come Easter, the open spring windows announced the season just as boldly, with Andrew Lloyd Webber's Jesus Christ Superstar drifting down the street for all the neighbors to enjoy, whether they'd planned on it or not. As for Bob's extensive record collection taking over an entire room — well. Kay had feelings about that, and she was never shy about sharing them.
She was also deeply passionate about family genealogy, taking great pride in learning and preserving the family's history — because to Kay, knowing where you came from was part of knowing who you were.
And then there was the family cabin. Kay loved it there — sitting by the creek, feeding the fish, surrounded by the people she loved most. If you want to picture Kay at her most content, that's probably the place to start.
Kay also cherished visits to Georgia to see her sister Dorothy and her family. Dorothy, knowing full well the risks, generously permitted Kay to feed the koi fish and the chickens — at potentially significant detriment to both — because making Kay happy during those visits was simply worth it. The fish and chickens may have had mixed feelings. The family did not.
Kay was a gifted, from-scratch, don't-you-dare-use-a-box cook and baker. Her kitchen was a place of warmth, abundance, and love — though Kay's from-scratch creations did, on rare occasion, produce their own legends. Don't bring up the Thanksgiving yams debacle — you know who you are. And don't put raisins in the stuffing, or even think about substituting homemade cranberry sauce for the traditional canned. Just don't.
But perhaps no culinary tradition captured Kay's genius — and her legendary practicality as a mother of seven — quite like the Great Weekly Mac & Cheese Rotation:
- Monday: Mac & cheese (a classic. Perfection.)
- Tuesday: Mac & cheese with tuna (elevated.)
- Wednesday: Mac & cheese with tuna and tomato (a development.)
- Thursday: Mac & cheese with tuna, tomato, and hot dog (the magnum opus.)
Resourceful? Absolutely. Delicious? Without question. Did anyone complain? Not more than once. Kay stretched a meal, fed a crowd, and made it all taste like love — because it was. Disagree, and you sat there until you finished it. The Clean Plate Club had standards, and you did not want to be excluded.
Let the record show that Kay Stump did not believe in idle hands. With seven children, a household to run, a faith to live, and a husband she adored, Kay somehow also managed to hold down jobs — multiple, overlapping, after-hours jobs — because that's just what she did.
After the kids had finished their homework. After dinner had been made from scratch. Then Kay went to work. She spent time working the food court at Hills Department Store, and also worked as a custodian — both on the kinds of schedules that would exhaust most people before they even started. Kay didn't complain. She did it for her family. Her children most of all.
And then there was perhaps her most inspired act of resourcefulness: Kay discovered she could order sample food products to be tested at home — and get paid for it. The children, naturally, became the test subjects. Was it a little unconventional? Sure. Did it put food on the table and a little money in the budget? Absolutely. Did the kids know they were essentially a tiny in-home focus group? Debatable. Kay called it creative problem solving. The children called it dinner. Either way, nobody went hungry — and Kay made sure of it.
Kay had a gift that many people talk about but few truly master: she made something out of nothing. With little to no resources, she created holidays that felt magical and birthdays that felt genuinely special — not because of what was spent, but because of what was given.
Every birthday in the Stump house came with not one but two beloved traditions. First: each child got to pick out their very own special cereal box. Second — and equally sacred — the birthday child chose whatever they wanted for dinner that night, and Kay made it. No substitutions, no negotiations, no "we'll see." You picked it, it appeared on the table. It sounds simple. It was simple. And it was perfect — because Kay understood that being seen and being chosen is what makes a child feel loved. Seven kids, seven cereal boxes, seven birthday dinners made exactly to order, and a mother who made sure every single one of them felt like the most important person in the room on their day.
That was Kay. She didn't need much to make magic. She just needed her family nearby.
Kay was the devoted wife of 53 years to the late Robert T. "Bob" Stump, who preceded her in death in January 2021. Bob was her partner, her love, and her person through every season of life. There is something quietly beautiful about knowing they are together again.
She is survived by her seven children: William of Duquesne; Kitty (William) Balaban; Jackie (James) Troff; Mike (Jill) Stump; Margaret "Maggie" (Steve) Rack of West Mifflin; John Stump; and Daniel (Kristy) Stump.
She was the proud grandmother of Catherine, Billy, Emma, Skyler, Shane, Sam, Gianna, Carlos, Rhianne, Conner, Jayden, Kiya, Kenzy, Dylan, and Katelyn — and the overjoyed great-grandmother of Katiana, Jayce, Lylah, and Isaiah.
A Note of Gratitude
Over her final years, Kay faced significant medical challenges with the same quiet courage and determination she brought to everything else — eyes forward, faith intact, family close. The family wishes to extend their deepest gratitude to Dr. Jennifer Lee, who kept Kay's heart working since 1995, and to Dr. Kerr and Dr. Khwaja, her primary care physicians, whose exceptional care meant more time, more holidays, more mac and cheese Mondays, and more of Kay.
What She Leaves Behind
Kay Stump leaves behind a family that is kinder, a community that is stronger, a garden that will bloom again in spring, and a whole lot of people who will never eat mac and cheese on a Monday without smiling and missing her. She leaves behind children who knew they were loved, grandchildren who knew they were cherished, and great-grandchildren who will grow up hearing stories about her and wishing they'd had more time.
She lived exactly as she believed — with generosity, with humor, with sacrifice, and with God. She made the ordinary feel extraordinary and the small things feel sacred. She was not a complicated woman. She simply loved people more than most people are capable of, and she did it every single day, without asking for anything in return, without making a fuss about it, and without ever once thinking she deserved a medal for it.
Not a bad way to spend 79 years, Kay. Not bad at all.
In Kay's honor, do something kind for someone today — no reason needed. She never needed one either. Or, if you really want to honor her properly, make a big pot of mac and cheese on Monday. You know she'd approve.
Originally published March 16, 2026.
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