Dearest Sanna and Lou,

Your mother’s beauty and integrity had no equal, and she will be dearly missed. But I know her light still shines brightly in the two of you. My heart goes out to you both, I think of you often with bestest wishes and kisses. 

Sanna & Lulli - Our thoughts are with you and your families during these difficult times.  I am sure she was thankful to you all for being with her during her final time here.   She was a loving and warm person that seemed to handle her personal challenges with grace. We will always remember her for her style - but more just as much for her spirituality and artistic talents.

Love, Leslie and Tom Knapp

P.S. My father, George Ball, was Dr. Woodurn Lamb's cousin.  I am Freddie's second cousin.

In Loving Memory of Our Mom

Nobody ever believed me when I told them that my mother never taught me how to cook—but it was the truth! She just wasn’t that kind of mom, at least not to me. So when I moved in to help care for her, I was just as skilled in the kitchen as I had been at six years old.

Mom and I lived off salad, scrambled eggs, grilled cheese… and Swedish pancakes! She was exceptionally gifted in the fine art of preparing English muffins with marmalade and cheese. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she went to heaven and became an English muffin, marmalade, and cheese angel herself.

It only took one moment of her being open, and I started trying new things—one recipe at a time. She became my taste tester, my audience, my reason to keep experimenting. In her own quiet way, she gave me permission to explore, and that simple act opened up a whole new world. I had no idea I could do it—until she let me try.

My mom was a complex, elegant, proper woman. Always composed, always doing things the “right” way. But behind all that polish was someone who had lived a thousand lives. She was breathtakingly beautiful. I remember her racing to jump into the hotel pool after a hot day at the racetrack—only to break her toe in the shallow end. It was just like her: graceful until she wasn’t, determined to have fun, even if it hurt a little.

She always carried herself with grace and self-respect, even when things got hard. One time we had to call the EMTs to help transport her because she couldn’t ride in the car. She opened her eyes to find a room full of tall, good-looking men standing around her bed. True to form, she didn’t say a word. She just looked at them all—tight-lipped and stone-faced—while they tried to ask her questions. But she refused to respond to any of them. Not until one of them finally walked over, took her hand, and introduced himself. Then and only then did she speak. That was the man she answered. The rest of them? Ignored. Because in her mind, it was only proper to introduce yourself before you started touching a lady.

When I was in sixth grade, she piled three of my friends and me into her tiny red Alfa Romeo Spider and drove us to see Rick Springfield at Red Rocks. She wore high heels, of course, even in a downpour. I still see her tiptoeing through the flood of coolers and chaos, never missing a beat, never leaving us behind. That was Mom. Resilient. Determined. A little wild underneath all that composure.

In her final days, a different version of her began to emerge. Softer. Funnier. A little sarcastic. A little more real. She said the darndest things—some of them absolutely hilarious. She wasn’t pretending as much anymore. There was something beautiful in that freedom.

Like the time we were just taking her to get a quick test done. We had dressed her in some comfortable clothes—nothing fancy, just something easy and soft. She looked down at herself in the doctor’s office, absolutely appalled, and said, “Yeah, I mean… who wears this?” We cracked up. Then she commented “ I mean really, who buys something like this?” That was our mom. Even in the middle of it all, she had style, attitude, and a sharp tongue that could make us laugh until we cried.

In those final years, we shared something rare and real—laughter. A lot of it. I could always make her laugh, and I took great pride in that. People would joke that they were jealous of how easily I could get her going. That was my gift to her—bringing a little light back in.

I was at her bedside when she passed. I just hope she felt peace in the end—that she knew she was loved not for being perfect, but for being ours. And that in those last years, she could feel the joy, the connection, and maybe even the freedom to just be.

When Lulli went to be with her mom, she did something truly brave — one of the bravest things I’ve ever witnessed. She left everything behind without knowing what the future would hold, and went straight to her mother’s side. From that moment on, she gave herself completely. Day and night, she was there — through hospital visits, close calls, small miracles, and quiet moments of hope.

There were times she thought her mother wouldn’t make it, and times she truly believed she would. Through it all, Lulli stayed strong, present, and full of love. I had the honor of supporting her through those moments, and I saw firsthand what it means to be a devoted daughter.

Frederick’s raised powerful women Sanna and Lulli — daughters who weren’t afraid to walk through darkness, who held on to light, and who gave everything without hesitation. It was one of the most beautiful, moving things I’ve ever seen.

This is a poem for my baby bear mom.

“My Baby Bear Mom”

She said she’d miss me when she’s gone,

I said we’ve been together all along.

Before this world, before the dawn,

You held my soul — and made it strong.

I watched you fight with quiet grace,

The softest light upon your face.

No armor, yet you stood so tall —

A gentle queen who felt it all.

Like Baby Bear, you liked things right —

Not too loud, and not too bright.

Too hot, too cold — you wouldn’t dare,

It had to be just right for Bear.

And so I learned to read your eyes,

To tuck you in under velvet skies.

To brush your hair and smooth your brow,

And whisper, “I am with you now.”

Your hands were tired, but never weak,

Your heart was wide, your soul unique.

You made the pain a sacred space,

And left behind the sweetest trace.

No crown of gold, no jeweled throne —

Just quiet strength you called your own.

And I, your cub, knelt by your side,

And saw the warrior none could hide.

You are my hero, heart, and guide,

The angel who won’t need to hide.

You’ve earned your wings, but not alone 

My spirit walks you safely home.

So miss me not — I’m always near,

A breath, a hum, a falling tear.

Forever bound, not by flesh, but flame —

My Baby Bear Mom, we’re one and the same. 

I love you mom-me

Your baby Lulli Anna

"For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Phillipians 1:21.  The veil is dropped, you're with Him! We'll see you on the other side, Fred. 

Loving you always,   Terri and Bob.

I have to say that my friend Sanna that I have known for some 3 or 4 years now taking care of her mother unwavering since she got cancer. Then I met her sister Lilly this past year. Those two and I was so glad to see Lilly show up to be able to give Sanna a little breathing room. I have been through this with them from the beginning of the diagnoses and seen all the many doctors appointments, hospital visits. They took care of there mom without question and I can only say is they amazed me at how loving two daughters where to there mother, all the way to the end.

I send my love and prayers out to you and your family.

Michael Lockett