Jeanne and I met in 1958 as freshmen at The University of Tennessee where our friendship began a lifelong journey that grew deeper through the years. We were roommates just one year and never lived in the same town, but we never stopped communicating with each other. There were so many parallels in our lives that connected us early on, but the many letters and notes that we wrote and the consistent phone calls cemented our bonds after graduation. We were each other’s honor attendants in our weddings, Kathryn was born three weeks before Ann-Marie, and visits began that first summer after their births. Our hobbies and interests drew us together through the years, but she was the master and I was the novice in those endeavors. She was the most accomplished and knowledgeable person in creating such beautiful things for herself, her family, and others that I have ever known. Any of her “projects” as she called them were perfection, but she was very modest about them. She was always generous in sharing her talents and ideas with others and gave gifts to so many people. 

In our adult lives we were able to fly or drive to see each other more often, sometimes in Signal Mountain, Tennessee, or Raleigh or Sugar Grove. After Carlton passed away we took a special trip to the National Cathedral in Washington for a week’s conference on  spirituality for women of various faith traditions. We both had attended a two-year Academy for Spiritual Formations; Jeanne in San Antonio, Texas, and I near Birmingham, Alabama. We shared our love for authors , theologians, and heroes of faith whose lives inspired ours. 

How do you measure the value of a friendship of over sixty-five years? I suppose it is through memories. Memories of fun times, sad times, stories of love for spouses and children and grandchildren, stories of colleagues and neighbors that we never met, and the important things in life. That’s what Jeanne and I shared.

I will miss you Jeanne, my dear friend, but you will always live on in my heart. 

I love you!

Brenda

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004). Second Stanza by Lucie Storrs

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow;

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain;

I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

Do not stand at my grave and mourn.

I am the dew-flecked grass at dawn.

Where tranquil oceans meet the land

I am the footprints in the sand

To guide you through the weary day.

I am still here; I’ll always stay.

When you wake up to morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there; I did not die.