Rest in Peace, Jennifer

I really do believe that there are few unique people in this world. I think we all want to be but in the end we're all pretty ordinary. That isn't a criticism - I think that at the end of the day you either have something that makes you stand out in a crowd or you do not.

I met Jennifer in spring of 2000 at a training seminar in Chicago. It was the first day and I was there on my own. I picked up my lunch and headed off to the dining room to find a place to sit. Jennifer must have seen me wandering aimlessly and called out for me to sit with her group. That's the kind of person she was - she never wanted anyone to be alone. She was there with her co-workers from Utah and they were a nice enough group.

We chatted for a little while and I found out that Jennifer was originally from Rochester. I found that we had a lot of other things in common - politics, movies, etc. That night we went out to Bob Chinn's Crab House. It was a two hour wait and we had nothing else to do so we went to the bar. It turns out that the more of their famous Mai Tais you drink, the more you win. We asked what the top prize was and the server informed us that it was a jacket but it was rare that anyone got that.

Anyway, we closed the place down that night. And yes, we walked out with two jackets. When Jennifer put her mind to something, it happened.

I went back to Buffalo and Jennifer went back to Utah but that was only the beginning of our friendship. We exchanged emails now and then and she would pop in and say hello when she was in the area. As luck would have it, a couple of years later Jennifer met her future husband (David) and planned to move back to Rochester. I would see Jennifer and David a few times a year over the next couple of years. When I left Superior I recommended that Jennifer take my place there. After some trepidation she applied for the job and it turned out to be a fantastic move for her. She learned a ton and was in a good company, and the company got a tremendous worker.

A few months later David and Jennifer came out for a party at the house. Jennifer wasn't feeling well so they spent most of the night on the couch while the rest of us played pool in the basement. I felt bad that she wasn't well but it was always nice to see them. A few weeks later Jennifer called me on a friday afternoon. She had cancer.

I don't know that I understood the gravity of the situation. First, I had not known anyone that had cancer. It wasn't something that happened to people that I knew. Second, I've never lost anyone under the age of 85. The only funeral that I had been to was that for my great grandather and he was in his 90's. Not only that, but Jennifer was too... alive... to fall victim to anything.

Jennifer handled her fight the same way she did everything else in her life - she gave it everything she had and then some. We made plans to go on vacation that summer and we all looked forward to it. Unfortunately the vacation never happened - Jennifer wasn't well enough to go. Jennifer and David did a good job and shielding the rest of us from knowing just how sick she was.

At some point it became apparent that Jennifer was not long for this world. In the last weeks I would drive out to Rochester to take a regular shift with Jennifer. It turns out that I was one of the many, many people that Jennifer touched. Her friends and family made sure that Jennifer was never alone, not matter time of day it was. I cherish the time that I had with her in the hospital, hoping to see her eyes open and for her to offer up a smile. The smiles came less frequent as the disease ravaged her body.

I'll never forget one specific day that I was in her room with David. Jennifer had been having a particularly rough time that week and had been taking the morphine more than she normally would. That day, something peculiar happened: for the first time in many days, Jennifer was awake and seemed as if nothing was wrong at all. For the better part of an hour we had a delightful conversation with her. I could only smile when she scolded me for bringing up politics, as only she could ("I'm not going to spend my last days talking about Hillary Clinton"). We all knew that we had been given a gift that day.

Unfortunately, Jennifer took a turn for the worst and we were asked to let her go. I spent some nerve-wracking days waiting for the call that finally came: Jennifer had passed. Words could not express how bad we felt for David and for Jennifer's family. I still do not have those words.

Her wish was to have a memorial so that her friends and family could get together. That day was one of the most amazing that I have ever had. It seems as though Jennifer touched everyone in the same way. We embraced each other and told our Jennifer stories and laughed and cried. I think that is how she wanted it.

I've never been a believer in heroes or icons. I realized something after Jennifer's death: I looked up to her. A lot. I admired her zest for life and her outspokenness. I liked that she was well-read. I liked that she knew just how to put me back in my place when I was out of line. During her last stint at home before her death, I brought Rebecca with me to visit her. We talked for a while and then Jennifer asked to speak to me alone for a second. "Stop being an ass, it is getting old. Marry that girl". That is the best advice that I have ever received.

It seems that I miss my friend more now than ever. I couldn't appreciate the things that she taught me as I wasn't ready for them. She taught me that I need to have better relationships with people. I'm still working on that, but I'm starting to understand. She asked me to make frequent plans with David, the man who brought so much happiness and love to her life - I haven't been so good with that. She taught me that the world is beautiful and that it has nothing to do with a mythical man in the sky (I finally got that).

Jennifer struggled as well. Like so many of us, she at times had a rocky relationship with her father. Chris, if you're reading this, Jennifer didn't always know how to say the words. She looked up to you in so many ways but didn't always know how to tell you. I hope this helps you to see that, at least a little.

I can't believe that it has been four years. This past winter we closed our office in Corning so I had to take apart Jennifer's desk. We had left it exactly as we found it - not a thing had been changed in her office. When I was working there I would sit at her desk and see her notes to herself and for a moment it felt like she had never left. I still use the notebooks that she used and it saddens me that they are almost full. Every now and then I'll see a piece of documentation in some code library that has her name on it. There is an unwritten rule that we do not remove her name from anything. It seems we all do anything we can to keep her in our hearts a little longer.

So in her memory I would like to dedicate this to anyone that has ever had someone special in their lives. Cherish your time with them as you never know how long it will last. I miss you Jennifer, and I know that I am not alone.