Words from Matt:

I am Jane’s son in law Matt, husband of Jane’s beloved daughter Holly. I consider it an honor to be able to say a few words about Jane today. Everyone here certainly has fond memories of Jane. I’d say very few negative memories even exist.

We saw Jane treasure time with family and loved ones. She rarely succumbed to the lure of watching TV when we were all together. She knew our time was all too precious. And of course, playing games always led to more laughing, more connecting with each other, than any television show could ever hope to give.

And we saw Jane love the outdoors. She seemed to have cultivated a child’s sense of wonder at all things in the natural world. This love of nature she shared with everyone, including Tom. The many camping trips they made during her last summer were the result of her insistence on getting out of town and being under the trees and the stars.

And we saw Jane fight cancer. I recall very little complaining during what most of us can only imagine was an incredibly scary and difficult time, both for her and Tom. But she met this challenge with resolve. She still invited family to visit and spend time with her. She still made it outside.

And we saw Jane adore her grandkids. She was proud. She was patient. She showed true interest in their development. We would be remiss to not say that Avery and Keane suffer as great a loss as any of us to not grow up with Jane as a grandmother.

And we saw Jane care so deeply for her own kids, Ben, Holly, and Eric. She was sure to offer well thought out advice. But never in such a way that they, or we I should say, felt manipulated. Not all mothers give such sincere and unconditional council. Jane honored our decisions and never let them interfere with the time we spent with each other.

And we saw Jane love her husband, Tom. Anyone who followed them on facebook knows that they celebrated life during the time they spent together. Although it was all too brief, it brings some comfort to know that they had the last two years to focus on each other, on fun, on family, on doing what they wanted to do.

I think that Jane believed that we don’t really know what we don’t know about the afterlife. Instead, she made it a point to make as many of her days as possible a heaven on earth for herself and those around her. But if you believe in heaven, then Jane is undoubtedly there. If you believe in reincarnation, then you know that Jane was a highly evolved soul. She is, perhaps, headed for the reincarnate of the next Dalai Lama or some new age guru with life aspirations to continue humanity’s evolution toward higher consciousness.

If perhaps, like myself, you don’t know what you believe after such a tragedy, you do know this: that the world would be a much-improved place if more people lived like Jane. So we have much to remember of her the next time we are inclined to hold a grudge, become aggravated at a loved one (or anyone for that matter), to treat our selves or the planet unkindly, or any other transgression that Jane so rarely committed. WWJD we can ask?!

May we also learn, in Jane’s honor, to revel in life. May we learn that for all of us, regardless of lifespan in years, life is short! Life is to be loved! And life is short!

Words from Holly:

I want to expand on a couple of facets of my mom’s character that have always inspired me. The first is the quality and breadth of her kindness; the extent to which my mom cared for people. It was demonstrated in the effort she put into all of her relationships. Her kindness shone in every interaction.

I don’t necessarily think that her type of genuine kindness is rare, but I do think it is often undervalued. What has been absolutely clarified for me in the past few weeks is this: how one cares for other people is one of the very few things that matters in the end. What remains, is how one has affected other people.

And my mom’s effect was a supernova of warmth and love. You knew she cared deeply for you. I think that’s why so many of you travelled so far to be here: you know she cared deeply for you, for everyone here. May we all have the courage to exhibit such love for the people we care about.

The other thing I want to talk about is my mom’s quest for perpetual learning and growth. Something she demonstrated, most notably in these past few years, is that it’s never too late to learn something. She was always reading, always taking classes, always forcing my dad to take classes.

On the Sunday before she died, Eric and I showed up here, and my mom was in the room around the corner, sitting at a little desk studying a college level chemistry textbook. She was doing chemistry homework for fun. Eric and I walked in, and I thought, “oh, I’ll probably remember some of this.” It became immediately clear that I didn’t remember any of it, and that my mom had surpassed me in chemical knowledge, despite me being the one with a Bachelor of Science degree.

She was always learning and growing and getting better. And so should we, it’s something we should all strive for. My mom was a remarkable, exemplary person. We’re going to miss her very much.

Words from Eric:

I don’t believe any words exist that can adequately describe just how much we love and miss our mom, Jane. I think that’s true for not only Holly and I, and Dad, but for all of us, individually and collectively too. We don’t have enough words in the English language to properly do us justice. To do her justice.

Mom was always loving, encouraging, motivating, and motivated. She challenged herself and us as well, most often succeeding in her aspirations to improve herself – or to inspire others to do so for themselves. As Holly mentioned, Mom was continually learning new things, but she was also teaching us new things. She frequently created simple and elegant solutions to problems when the need arose. And she constantly radiated kindness and positivity and empathy, genuinely embodying such qualities.

I’ve been trying for days, to think of a story about her to tell. Some warm and clever anecdote to impress everyone. Some specific memory that could perfectly encapsulate her personality. I eventually realized that this would be impossible, of course. She was multi-faceted, her personality complex and dynamic, not able to be so easily captured.

I also understand that memory is a notoriously unreliable thing, and so how could I be sure that I would be painting an accurate portrait? So I’ve decided to accept that memory is inherently faulty, and have chosen to recount the instance in which Mom parachuted to the side of a sheer cliff in order to rescue a nest of orphaned baby owls, then proceeded to rappel down and eat lunch, sharing a can of tomato soup with Abraham Lincoln and Chuck Norris! That happened. Pretty sure that happened.

Obviously, we’re absolutely devastated and simply heartbroken, but I have a reassurance to offer. And that is: despite however untimely Mom’s death may have been; however cruel that twist of fate is; however undeniably unfair it seems; and however unbelievably unfortunate the circumstance that left us bereft of her wonderful presence; despite all of this, we are all extremely lucky, I think, to have known her and to have spent time with her. Holly and I especially, to have been raised by her and Dad, the two best parents we know.

And while, of course, a massive void has sunk into each of our hearts with this profound loss, her everlasting memory arises to help fill it. And each day our remembrance of her will grow a little bit more, and continue to guide and comfort us. So I think we can be grateful, and somewhat fulfilled, knowing we had such an incredible person impact us in her unique and loving ways.

Thanks Mom. You were the absolute best.

Words from Tom:

Of all the blessings that time and earth bestow, there is none so precious as one true friend.

When Jane and I first started dating in early 1979, I simply assumed that being friendly meant having a random assortment of friends, whom you could occasionally confide in.

Jane changed all that. She showed me a side of humanity that took me by surprise. She helped to soften my cynicism and skepticism of life. Her unwavering gentleness to all living things, her dedication to nature, and her ability to make others smile simply blew me away.

That beautiful soul latched on to mine, and in 1980, we decided to share a house. Eventually, we were determined to spend the rest of our lives together. And so, the friendship blossomed into love, but the two were inseparable.

Our families grew, and Jane’s dedication to the family unified us all. And as we moved around the country, we discovered new friends, all who had a deep admiration for her kindness, spirit and adventure.

You all know the rest of the story: wonderful kids and grandkids, retirement and leisure. Life was pretty grand.

Despite the awfulness of the event leading up to this moment, I am lifted by everyone’s presence. This tribute tells us all so much about Jane and how much we all cared for her. As our garden outside grows over the next few months, the pain and sadness will lift, and some normalcy will return.

Thank you all so much for coming to this memorial. I love you all.