Sunday, April 6, 2008
One of the hardest things I ever had to do was to tell Janet that we were moving. By that time we had been next-door neighbors for 10 years, and Janet was like a part of our family. I felt like a traitor, abandoning her.
She was our children’s first friend. As soon as our son Robb was born, while I was still in the hospital with him, she gave him his first book, Good Night, Moon—the first of many she would give our children. From Day One she played an important role in their development., praising and encouraging them, and delighting in them. When toddler Robb’s favorite word was "ridiculous," Janet showed up with a book called "You Look Ridiculous," Said the Rhinocerous to the Hippopotamus. When he showed an interest in some mushrooms that had sprouted up in our yard, she went out and bought him a book for identifying mushrooms—and he, Julie, and I spent the next several days mushroom hunting in the woods behind our house, identifying many with the aid of Janet’s book.
Once, as Robb was "helping" Janet in her garden, he spontaneously started reciting "The Tale of the Jabberwocky." She was giggly over his accomplishment, and she offered to pay him a dime for each poem he memorized from then on.
After Fred died, several times a week Janet would call in the morning and ask, "Would Robb like to come watch ‘Sesame Street’ with me? And the two of them would spend a couple of hours together. On weekends if was not uncommon for her to call and ask, "Tennis, anyone?" She knew how much Woody I enjoyed playing and how difficult it was for us to do, with two kids to watch after. So off we’d would go, the kids always delighted to spend time with Janet.
Julie loved Janet so much that after we moved to Bethany, she called her every single day for the first year, and they chatted away, our four-year-old and her 74-year-old "Best Friend." When in grade school Julie was asked to interview an elderly person, there was no question who she would choose. We still have the little booklet Julie made of that write-up; it’s a bit of a family treasure.
Another family treasure hangs on the wall of our study, "Woody’s room." There are family pictures on all four walls. Though in some cases the kids are shown with their peers, there is just one other friend on those walls, and she’s posing with Woody. Janet kept the same photo on her dresser, for she and Woody had a very special friendship.
We didn’t know Fred when he was teaching, and we hadn’t known him and Janet for long when we were invited to his retirement dinner, which must have been in February. For Valentine’s Day Woody had made Janet a necklace of sorts—a three- or four-inch heart cut from a two-inch thick piece of pine, onto which he had burned in the message "Woody + Janet," then drilled a hole in it, through which he threaded a string of leather (Woody’s idea of a necklace). Janet being Janet, she loved it—and wouldn’t you know, at Fred’s retirement dinner, attended by all sorts of big wigs, including a former Supreme Court justice, we met Janet in the receiving line, proudly sporting her new necklace.
Janet was an inspiration to our family, teaching us a lot about what matters in life. She was the least pretentious person I have ever known. Not for her, fancy things; just give her her beloved garden and some good friends. In a world grown all too pessimistic and jaded, Janet stood out for her cheerful, rosy "take" on things. Woody always said, "Janet things everything and everybody is wonderful—and, indeed, I think that was one of her favorite words. Even when Julie and I visited her on her last day in this world, and she was struggling with every breath, she called us angels and kept thanking us for every little thing we did for her. And when we shifted her to make her more comfortable, we heard for the last time, "That’s wonderful."
Shortly before she died, Janet said to me, "Barbie, don’t mourn for me." "I won’t, Jan
