Barbara Jill Coyne

If you knew Jill Coyne, there was probably a seat for you at her table.

 

It might have been the dining room table covered with homework and textbooks, a Thanksgiving table with an extra place set for someone who had nowhere else to go, or simply a chair beside her for a glass of wine and a conversation. Wherever Jill was, people gathered. Before long, friends had a way of becoming family.

 

Barbara Jill Coyne, known to nearly everyone simply as “Jill,” was born in 1948 in McKeesport, Pennsylvania, to Frank and Vuka Gayok. Jill lost her mother at just four years old. Her father later remarried, and Irene Gayok became an important influence in her life, instilling two values that shaped Jill forever: the importance of education and the responsibility to help others.

 

While in college, Jill met Ronald “Ron” Coyne through a mutual friend. She fell in love with his intelligence—and his wonderful sense of humor. They married on January 25, 1969, in Pittsburgh, beginning more than five decades together raising a family, building careers, serving their communities, and facing life side by side.

 

Their journey took them to Schenectady, New York, where their son Brian was born, then to Nashua, New Hampshire, where Eric and Shauna joined the family. Eventually they settled in neighboring Merrimack, where one of Jill's greatest gifts became unmistakable: she didn't just make friends—she made family.

 

With many neighbors living far from relatives, Jill's home became the gathering place. Someone might stop by with donuts on a Saturday morning and stay for hours. A neighbor might wander in for a glass of wine. And if someone didn't have somewhere to spend Thanksgiving, Jill simply found another chair.

 

Her door was open, and so was her table.

 

Jill had a gift for conversation. It often began with "How was your day?" and somehow ended with an attempt to solve one of the world's great problems. She listened with genuine curiosity, cared deeply about the answer, and made people feel safe enough to be themselves.

 

She was also quick-witted, always ready with the perfect comeback. It wasn't unusual for someone to walk away smiling and tell one of her children, "I like your mom. Your mom is cool."

 

They were right.

 

Jill was a determined working mother at a time when balancing career, education, and raising three children was anything but easy. While raising an active family, she spent eight years attending night classes at Rivier College, while working full time to earn her accounting degree in her early forties.

 

Her children remember the dining room table transforming into the weekend homework table. Anyone was welcome to study alongside Jill—as long as they did it quietly. And if you couldn't find anything quiet to do, Jill could always find a chore for you instead.

 

That same determination led to a successful accounting career. She worked for Joseph D. Laprietro in Nashua, later operated her own tax accounting business, and eventually worked for Ocean Spray Cranberries and Siemens before retiring to Florida. Along the way, she formed friendships around the world, welcoming friends from Switzerland, Germany, and England into her home.

 

But titles and careers tell only part of Jill's story.

 

As a mother, Jill loved watching her children play, whether in the backyard, on Merrimack Youth Association fields, around the ping pong table, or simply laughing together at home. She created a house where people felt safe enough to laugh loudly, make mistakes, and always come back.

 

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts she gave her children was something the family called "the Freebie."

A Freebie meant any subject could be discussed—no matter how difficult or uncomfortable. The only rule was honesty. There would be no judgment and no strings attached.

 

Through something so simple, Jill taught a profound lesson: we all make mistakes, and everyone deserves a safe place to land.

 

As the children left for college, Jill and Ron moved to Foxboro, Massachusetts. True to form, they quickly built another circle of friends who became family.

 

Then came one of Jill's greatest joys: becoming a grandmother.

 

She treasured every opportunity to spend time with her grandchildren. She wasn't simply watching from the sidelines—she was present, involved, and deeply influential, passing along the same love, honesty, humor, and appreciation for education that had shaped her own family.

 

Eventually Jill and Ron retired to Gulfport, Florida, where Frank and Irene had retired before them. Once again, Jill built community wherever she went.

 

Inspired by her father Frank's commitment to serving others, Jill and Ron devoted their retirement to volunteer work with the Gulfport Lions Club and Southeastern Guide Dogs raising a service puppy who would go on to support a family in need. Jill served as Treasurer for both the Lions Club and her homeowners association, putting both her accounting skills and generous spirit to work.

 

Throughout her life, Jill was the steady anchor of her family and often her community. That strength became especially evident when her husband Ron developed Alzheimer's disease. Jill faced that chapter with unwavering devotion, making certain his needs were met and remaining faithfully by his side.

 

It was simply who she was.

 

Jill showed up.

 

She showed up for her husband, her children, her grandchildren, her neighbors, her friends, and her community. She believed in education and hard work but also knew life needed room for laughter, friendship, a glass of wine with neighbors, and conversations that tried to solve the world's problems.

Jill was predeceased by her beloved husband Ron, who passed away just twenty days earlier on July 8, 2026. She is survived by her siblings: brother Ted and her half sister Diane, her children: Brian (Jaime), Eric (Alaina), and Shauna (Nick), her beloved grandchildren: Rhianna (Jake), Vanessa, Samantha (Kaden), Victoria, Ava, Ben, and Olivia, and the countless friends who became family through her remarkable ability to make everyone feel welcomed, valued, and loved.

 

Her legacy isn't found only in the career she built, the degree she earned, or the organizations she served. It lives in the people who knew they could knock on her door, tell her the truth, share her table, and find a place where they belonged.

 

She taught those around her that family isn't defined only by blood or by last name.

 

Sometimes family is the person who brings donuts on Saturday morning.

 

Sometimes it's the person sitting quietly beside you doing homework.

 

Sometimes it's the neighbor sharing a glass of wine.

 

Sometimes it's the person who needs somewhere to go on Thanksgiving.

 

And sometimes it's simply knowing there will always be a seat waiting for you at the table.

 

While we may not be able to fulfill her final request exactly as she envisioned, sharing it gives those who knew her one last reason to smile.

 

With characteristic wit, Jill often joked, "When I pass away, I want to be a speedbump. I figure if I was a pain in the ass while alive, I should keep being a pain in the ass when I'm gone."

 

That was Jill.