My beloved friend Jane Berkman died on May 3, 2015, after eight years of all that goes with ovarian cancer.
Let me tell you about my friend Jane.
In 1987, we met in the U.W Masters in Social Work program. I didn't have any classes with her for two quarters, but admired her beauty and high energy and colorful, flowy hippy clothes from across the boring, beige school of social work hallways.
In our third quarter, we took Introductory Group Process. During the first class, our professor told us to find someone to talk to. Very potentially awkward and group processy.
Jane and I made beelines for each other.
If memory serves, we bonded quickly about feminism, love of musicals, and shared humor. Probably about food and body image, too.
For our second year internship, we both worked at the Sexual Assault Center at Harborview. It was a bad fit for me, for a lot of reasons. My confidence was in the toilet and I couldn't sleep. But every day, Jane was there, smiling at me, laughing, wanting to spend time with me and know me. She was like a sunny "Annie You're Adequate" vitamin supplement of friendship love.
When Barbara and I decided we wanted to become moms, Jane found Keith for us, the man who eventually helped Barbara make Corey. That of course, was a gift beyond measure. We called her Corey's Fairy Godmother.
Seventeen years ago, when I suffered a major depression and thought I might break up with Barbara, she was the one who said "I think you'll figure it out." We did.
Unfortunately, she later had her own experiences with major depression. I was able to support her in getting through that thing that's often so hard to understand unless you've gone through it.
We laughed a lot. We saw at least a dozen musicals together, at high schools, in Leavenworth, at the Fifth Avenue, and elsewhere. Sometimes we two hippy Jew-ish gals felt pretty out of place with the rest of the audience.
Jane and I weren't best friends, because neither of us is a best friend kind of gal. We both have many friends whom we cherish. But of all my friends, Jane was the most like me temperamentally (Meyers-Briggs ENFP, for those in the know.) It was enormously comforting to spend time with someone who was relaxed in the same ways I am- kind of messy and disorganized and highly friendly and not totally prompt, and sometimes "too much" for people, and for whom grooming was pretty much an after thought every morning.
About a year ago, I had an unsatisfying party experience that left me feeling awkward in a way that doesn't happen much at this point in my life. Afterward, I realized part of the problem was that my preferred conversational style could be called "Early American Therapy Group," Not so everyone, of course!
Jane knew just what I meant and said that she was the same way. So comforting.
Jane never talked about her prognosis, so I didn't ask. But in early 2014, I got the impression that things had taken a turn for the worse, and we started having Comedy Night on Wednesdays. Because of children, schedules, travels, there had been many periods during our 27 years of friendship when we didn't see each other much, so to see Jane weekly was a total treat, even though the reason we could do it was horrible.
We gave each other weekly updates, ate something, and watched sitcoms as old as Mayberry, as silly as The Flying Nun, and as current as Modern Family.
I hoped laughter would be the best medicine.
Of course, our weekly mini-vacations didn't save her, but I'm so glad we tried.
I love you Jane, and I'm going to miss you so much. Already do.
Let me tell you about my friend Jane.
In 1987, we met in the U.W Masters in Social Work program. I didn't have any classes with her for two quarters, but admired her beauty and high energy and colorful, flowy hippy clothes from across the boring, beige school of social work hallways.
In our third quarter, we took Introductory Group Process. During the first class, our professor told us to find someone to talk to. Very potentially awkward and group processy.
Jane and I made beelines for each other.
If memory serves, we bonded quickly about feminism, love of musicals, and shared humor. Probably about food and body image, too.
For our second year internship, we both worked at the Sexual Assault Center at Harborview. It was a bad fit for me, for a lot of reasons. My confidence was in the toilet and I couldn't sleep. But every day, Jane was there, smiling at me, laughing, wanting to spend time with me and know me. She was like a sunny "Annie You're Adequate" vitamin supplement of friendship love.
When Barbara and I decided we wanted to become moms, Jane found Keith for us, the man who eventually helped Barbara make Corey. That of course, was a gift beyond measure. We called her Corey's Fairy Godmother.
Seventeen years ago, when I suffered a major depression and thought I might break up with Barbara, she was the one who said "I think you'll figure it out." We did.
Unfortunately, she later had her own experiences with major depression. I was able to support her in getting through that thing that's often so hard to understand unless you've gone through it.
We laughed a lot. We saw at least a dozen musicals together, at high schools, in Leavenworth, at the Fifth Avenue, and elsewhere. Sometimes we two hippy Jew-ish gals felt pretty out of place with the rest of the audience.
Jane and I weren't best friends, because neither of us is a best friend kind of gal. We both have many friends whom we cherish. But of all my friends, Jane was the most like me temperamentally (Meyers-Briggs ENFP, for those in the know.) It was enormously comforting to spend time with someone who was relaxed in the same ways I am- kind of messy and disorganized and highly friendly and not totally prompt, and sometimes "too much" for people, and for whom grooming was pretty much an after thought every morning.
About a year ago, I had an unsatisfying party experience that left me feeling awkward in a way that doesn't happen much at this point in my life. Afterward, I realized part of the problem was that my preferred conversational style could be called "Early American Therapy Group," Not so everyone, of course!
Jane knew just what I meant and said that she was the same way. So comforting.
Jane never talked about her prognosis, so I didn't ask. But in early 2014, I got the impression that things had taken a turn for the worse, and we started having Comedy Night on Wednesdays. Because of children, schedules, travels, there had been many periods during our 27 years of friendship when we didn't see each other much, so to see Jane weekly was a total treat, even though the reason we could do it was horrible.
We gave each other weekly updates, ate something, and watched sitcoms as old as Mayberry, as silly as The Flying Nun, and as current as Modern Family.
I hoped laughter would be the best medicine.
Of course, our weekly mini-vacations didn't save her, but I'm so glad we tried.
I love you Jane, and I'm going to miss you so much. Already do.
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