MANCHESTER — Luena Ashton Dawes passed away Jan. 2, after a long life, filled with friends, family and memories.

She was born April 21, 1926, in Lewiston, to John and Selma Ashton, the sixth of their eight children.

After graduating from Lewiston High School, Lu worked at the Lewiston Public Library. She met and married Alfred F Dawes Jr. and they raised their two daughters in Auburn.

Later, the family moved to the Augusta area, where Luena worked for the Taxation Department at the State of Maine for many years.

After retirement, Luena took up Bridge, playing at the Cohen Center in Hallowell, and had many fun times at fellow bridge player’s homes. Lu was active in the Manchester Extension, and a long standing patron of the Hubbard Free Library.

Family was paramount in Luena’s life — family gatherings were a regular and joyous event.

Surviving are Luena’s daughters, Diana Worthing and her husband, David, of Manchester and Valerie Dawes and her companion, Jim Noel, of Allenstown, N.H.; grandsons, Jason Worthing, and his family — wife, Maki, great-grandchildren, Kaiya and Dillon of Okinawa, Japan, and Jacob Worthing of Manchester; a special sister, Marge Ashton Cormier of Lewiston; sister-in-law, Amy Ashton; special nieces and nephews include, Bill Sterritt, Don Ashton, Don Woodbury, Barbara Ashton Annear, Ernie Ashton and Stephen Cormier and their families.

Luena was predeceased by her husband, Alfred; siblings, Elinor Ashton Sterritt, Stanley Ashton, Ruth Ashton Germann, Dorothy Ashton Woodbury, John (Jack) Ashton Jr. and Donald K. Ashton; and a very special brother-in-law, Clement Cormier.

Condolences may be sent to the family through www.khrfuneralhomes.com.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. By Christina Rossetti.