Phyllis D. Bailey

Phyllis Delores Jasinski Bailey, 94, passed away peacefully on Wednesday, February 18, 2026.

Born on January 8, 1932, in Chester, Pennsylvania, Phyllis was the beloved daughter of Matthew and Pauline Jasinski and one of four children. She grew up in Chester and graduated from Chester High School, carrying with her the strong values of faith, family, and hard work that would define her life.

Phyllis married the love of her life, Joseph John Bailey, and together they built a home centered on devotion and family. Their marriage was blessed with three children: Cheryl, Marcia, and Robert. She was a loving mother whose steady presence, strength, and wisdom shaped the lives of her children.

She was also a proud grandmother to five grandchildren (Mathew, Brett, Kristen, Ali and Liam) and a great-grandmother to one great-grandchild (Madison). Nothing brought her greater joy than watching her family grow. Her love extended across generations, and her legacy will live on in each of them.

Exceptionally gifted and deeply creative, Phyllis had a remarkable talent for art. Her artistic ability was not only a reflection of her creativity, but also of her gentle spirit and the beauty she saw in the world around her. Whether through her paintings or other artistic expressions, she brought joy and inspiration to those who were fortunate enough to see her work.

Phyllis will be remembered for her warmth, her resilience, and the deep love she carried for her family. She was a woman of grace and determination, and she gave of herself freely to those she loved.

She is reunited in heaven with her husband, Joseph, daughter, Cheryl and other loved ones who preceded her in death. She is survived by two of her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchild, and all who were blessed to know her.  She will be missed terribly, remembered always, and loved forever.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out her burial urn, let the mourners come.

Let airplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,

Put bows round the white necks of all the doves,

Let the traffic cops wear black cotton gloves.

She was our North, our South, our East and West,

Our working week and our Sunday rest,

Our noon, Our midnight, Our talk, Our song;

We thought that her love and presence would last forever: We were wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now will ever be as good.

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