Sandra Jean Tye

Sandra Jean Tye, 85, of Robinson, IL, passed away on April 12, 2026, in the comfort of her home. She came into the world on June 21, 1940, in Galesburg, IL, the daughter of John B. and Doris Marie (Clark) Sornberger, and she grew up in the small town of Victoria as a daddy's girl in the truest sense. She was the kind of daughter who'd rather be in the garden, on the riverbank, or out squirrel hunting with her father than just about anywhere else. Every evening, he'd gather his girls and read them Psalm 121, and somewhere in those quiet hours, Sandy learned where her help came from.

She graduated from R.O.V.A. High School in 1958, and on April 24, 1959, she married Jerry Tye and began the great love story of her life. The early 1960s brought her young family to the area when Jerry joined WTAY, and Sandra quickly went about turning a new town into home. Part of how she did that was by going to work at Heath, a job that would last twenty-nine years, long enough to watch the company become Leaf and then Hershey. She worked the Heath line for most of those years and was on the Sixlets line by the time she retired. Her co-workers loved her to pieces, and it wasn't hard to see why. Sandy was genuine and warm, never one to talk down about anyone, the sort of presence that made an ordinary shift feel a little lighter. Decades after she'd hung up her hairnet, she was still meeting up with the retired Heath ladies for lunch every Monday or Wednesday, because friendships like that don't end when the paychecks do.

Through all those years she was clocking in at the candy line, she was also raising three boys at home, and she didn't just have children. She raised them. Sandra loved them in every key love comes in, including the tough ones, because she believed kids needed that too. If one boy stepped out of line and his brothers didn't stop him, all three of them caught it together. "This house is not a gymnasium!" was practically a household psalm, hollered so often her boys could've recited it in their sleep. Years later, when folks asked how hard it was to raise three boys, she'd grin and tell them it was nothing compared to having two granddaughters!

That same straight-shooting spirit that kept her boys in line ran clear through the rest of her, too. Sandy was honest down to the bone, and if a hair was out of place, she noticed and she'd tell you so. But that honesty came wrapped in a heart that worried about everyone but herself, sometimes to her own detriment. Her doctor once told her flat out that her biggest health problem was stress, because she was carrying everyone else's. Carrying the family was familiar work for her, especially in those years when Jerry was out broadcasting ballgames and taking notes at city council meetings for the radio. Sandy held the house together through more single-mom evenings than anyone could count, and she didn't complain about it.

But when she could go to the games, she went gladly. She and Jerry kept season tickets to Indiana State basketball for years, rooted for the Illini, followed the Big Ten religiously, and cheered for the Bulls when college hoops weren't being played. Sitting still wasn't in either of them. They polka-danced everywhere, including two trips to Germany and one to England with the Oberlandler Club, where the music was loud, the dinners were long, and the friendships were warm enough to host in their own home. Her family even danced with her just a few days before she passed, which is about as Sandy an ending as anyone could write!

If polka was their music, Disney World was their cathedral. Trips there became sacred ground for the family. Sandy loved to people-watch there and never missed the light parade or the fireworks. One year, she accepted the indignity of a scooter so she wouldn't have to walk so far. She promptly turned it into a sport, wheely-ing her way through the parks like a woman half her age. That was Sandy: always game. Back home, she'd call up the grandkids on a whim and ask if they wanted to ride to Terre Haute or Evansville, and not a single grandkid's birthday went by without her hauling them to Terre Haute for a new pair of shoes and a meal of their choosing.

Feeding the people she loved was its own kind of joy, and the kitchen was where her affection took its most edible form. Her pot roast called the family home on Sundays. Her chocolate layer cake had a reputation. Her chocolate chip cookies were legendary, baked by the dozens for anyone she loved. Her efforts were occasionally sabotaged by her own people, like the time Dan carved a jack-o-lantern face into the pumpkin pie she'd made for an LTC dinner, or the time she lifted the lid on a freshly finished cake to find Jerry had already helped himself to a generous chunk. (She was mortified both times, and her family has been telling those stories ever since.) She and Jerry were big in the Statesman Club, through which they fed Lincoln Trail players a few times a month and made sure no kid went home empty-handed.

A meal at Sandy's table was rarely just a meal, because she had a gift for turning ordinary moments into life lessons. Dan's kids walked to their grandparents' house after school for cookies and instruction in how to treat people and how to live well, and her whole family came up that way. She taught the things school doesn't: ironing, cooking, the unglamorous skills that hold a life together. When Dale started cooking for her, she just about glowed, knowing her work had taken root. The lessons didn't stop at the kitchen table, though. She taught just as much through simple presence.

She never missed a grandkid's event, and any time Disney released a new movie, she rounded up the grandkids and hauled them to the theater. Because more than anything, Sandra loved being with her family. When everyone was together, it meant the world to her. She was the best hug-giver and back-scratcher her people ever knew, as well as the most selfless-the kind of woman who handed things out long before she ever took anything for herself. She and Jerry built something rare: a home shaped by faithfulness and a sense of family that has tied their people together for keeps. The house on her street is quieter now, but the home she built isn't, because the home she built was never really a building. It was a way of loving people, and her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are still living inside it.

She is survived by her children, Dale (Kay) Tye, Dan (Ronda) Tye, and Dean Tye; her grandchildren, Jordan (Taffie) Tye, Bradley Tye, Erinn (Joey) Norman, Derek Tye, and Emma Tye; her great-grandchildren, Quenten Tye, Benson Tye, and Greyson Norman; her sister, Sue (John) Flinner; her sisters-in-law, Ruby Tye and Ruth Ann Johnson; as well as many nieces, nephews, and other extended family members. She was preceded in death by her parents and her husband of 66 years, Jerry Tye.

A time of visitation will be held from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. on Wednesday, April 22nd, at the Goodwine Funeral Home in Robinson. A memorial service will immediately follow at 4:00 p.m. with Celebrant Curt Goodwine officiating. Memorial contributions may be made to the organization of the donor's choice, with envelopes available at the funeral home.