It was early February 1986. I had just received a letter from Janice, it was our Jr. year and she was at Vanderbilt. She had told me about the cold weather, her art history studies, ideas of going back to Philadelphia to study art (Janice was a fabulous letter writer). A few days later, Kelly Leslie (Funderburk) called to tell me Janice had fallen and hit her head. She was in a coma and there was no brain activity. It didn't look good. I remember walking around the campus at Pepperdine in a daze not knowing what to do, listening to John Denver's, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," because Janice loved John Denver and Colorado. A woman stopped to ask me what was wrong. I told her my friend was in a coma and the stranger tried to be encouraging, saying that Doctors were performing miracles now, that maybe my friend would make it.
I remember going over to Janice's house after the service and having this surreal experience of all of us being there without her. How painful that was, like swallowing shards of crystal. How empty we all felt. How hard it was to say goodbye to her sister and mom. How our young universe had shifted.
I miss Janice to this day. I think of her often. It is still difficult to talk about her. Sometimes I forget that she has died and, in some parallel universe, imagine that she is alive, has opened an art gallery, has a family of her own. Losing Janice made me realize that we must fight to keep what's truly important in perspective.
The loss of our dear sweet friend Janice was so tragic, sad and sudden. I remember receiving the news while at the University of Texas and I just felt so numb , my sense of reality was shaken.
I was also there at the funeral service on that glum cloud filled day when out of nowhere, the clouds rolled back the heavens opened up and a streaming beam of pure bright light shone down directly onto the casket and filled the room.
Then just as quickly, the clouds covered over, and the rain came down!
Alice Schuette (De Pauw)
It was early February 1986. I had just received a letter from Janice, it was our Jr. year and she was at Vanderbilt. She had told me about the cold weather, her art history studies, ideas of going back to Philadelphia to study art (Janice was a fabulous letter writer). A few days later, Kelly Leslie (Funderburk) called to tell me Janice had fallen and hit her head. She was in a coma and there was no brain activity. It didn't look good. I remember walking around the campus at Pepperdine in a daze not knowing what to do, listening to John Denver's, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," because Janice loved John Denver and Colorado. A woman stopped to ask me what was wrong. I told her my friend was in a coma and the stranger tried to be encouraging, saying that Doctors were performing miracles now, that maybe my friend would make it.
I remember going over to Janice's house after the service and having this surreal experience of all of us being there without her. How painful that was, like swallowing shards of crystal. How empty we all felt. How hard it was to say goodbye to her sister and mom. How our young universe had shifted.
I miss Janice to this day. I think of her often. It is still difficult to talk about her. Sometimes I forget that she has died and, in some parallel universe, imagine that she is alive, has opened an art gallery, has a family of her own. Losing Janice made me realize that we must fight to keep what's truly important in perspective.
Clare Poerschke (Eanes)
The loss of our dear sweet friend Janice was so tragic, sad and sudden. I remember receiving the news while at the University of Texas and I just felt so numb , my sense of reality was shaken.
I was also there at the funeral service on that glum cloud filled day when out of nowhere, the clouds rolled back the heavens opened up and a streaming beam of pure bright light shone down directly onto the casket and filled the room.
Then just as quickly, the clouds covered over, and the rain came down!