Cheers to a life well lived
In loving memory of Jeannie Ryle Janes
January 1, 1967—November 26, 2022
Happy Birthday in heaven to my sweet sister-in-love, Jeannie Ryle Janes, who left us far too soon, but whose spirit burns brilliantly in our hearts and memories. This post is dedicated to Jeannie—part birthday card, part thank you note, but mostly, I hope, a celebration of the good life she led and the profound impact she had on the people around her.
Like so many, I often spend this quiet week after Christmas making space to reflect on the past year and to consider my intentions for the new year. Usually this enterprise has me thinking about my big-picture goals, which are often couched in the simple question of how to make the most of my time here on earth. How do I put to use the gifts I’ve been given and leave the world just a little bit better than I found it? How do I honor the deeply curious and adventurous streak in my soul? How do I love more and fear less? While these questions continue to drive my thinking as I consider the year ahead, Jeannie’s passing has moved me in ways that are hard to explain and maybe even shifted my ideas about what it really means to make the most of my time here on earth.
First, let me say that although I try not to doubt God in these matters, Jeannie’s passing seems particularly unfair. It was sudden and unexpected and came just a year after she had finished her final cancer treatment. With grace and courage, she had battled a beast and had emerged triumphant. In the wake of that arduous journey, Jeannie was living in a season of unusual and spectacular joy—a season when so many elements of her life were easy and comfortable and her spirit was infused with the kind of gratitude you have only after surviving something you weren’t sure you would. She was married to Larry, a wonderful man, who was truly the love of her life. She was extremely close to both her children, her son Paul and his wife Margaret who gave her two beautiful grandchildren, Grant and Janie, and her daughter Chrissy who had just announced her engagement to her longtime love, Payton. She had a new home she loved, a job she enjoyed and a legion of loyal friends near and far. She was, quite simply, in the sweetest part of a very sweet life.
As for my own small part in that sweet life, Jeannie was my sister-in-law for nearly 20 years. For most of those years, Jeannie and my brother lived a short distance down a country road from my mother in a beautiful swath of the Central Oregon high desert. Every year, my daughter Madeline and I would travel there for the summer and over many years, not only did our children become inseparable cousins, but Jeannie and I grew very close as sisters.
Our summer days almost always began with an early-morning phone call when we would figure out the plan for the kids that day, what we were doing for dinner and which house the kids would be staying at that night. I can still hear Jeannie’s easy, cheerful sing-song voice saying, “mornin!” as we began to map out the day ahead. Jeannie and I had a mutual understanding that we loved to do different things, so we knew that if I was taking the kids on an “adventure” that day, that she was free to meet a girlfriend for lunch and that she would pick up what we needed for our family dinner on the porch that evening. Or, if she was taking the kids into town for shopping and sushi, that I was free to do my trail run or go for a long hike. Often, the afternoon ended with us at the pool, laughing and talking with our Mom, while our kids played happily nearby. As our kids grew older, the days changed, but frequently we chose to have dinner together and often we sat together on my Mom’s porch well into the evening, talking and watching for shooting stars. I am so grateful to remember those summer days with such startling clarity as they were definitely among the very best days of my life and Jeannie will always live right in the middle of those happy memories.
Although Jeannie and my brother’s marriage did not last forever, our sisterhood did. We lived thousands of miles from each other, but often visited when I was in town and had at least one good phone call a year, usually on this day, when I called to say Happy Birthday and Happy New Year. As I write this, I just feel so lucky and grateful that during a very short stay in Central Oregon last summer, I called and invited her to join my friend Katie and I for dinner, where we laughed and caught up and toasted her hard-won victory over cancer. The picture attached to this post was taken on that day.
What I always knew about Jeannie was that she was expert at reading the room and even more expert at using her gentle insight to say and do the exact right thing in just about every situation. In our family, she was a peacekeeper, a supportive and loving daughter to our mom, a sweet and easygoing sister and an incredibly fun and generous aunt. Amidst our sadness during this past month, my sister Janet and I have been remembering all our spirited family outings with Jeannie, her kind easy spirit, and just how close she was to each of our six daughters, who are all just so devastated by this loss.
What I have learned about Jeannie since her passing is that not only was she really good at being a wife, a mom, a grandma, a sister and an aunt, but she was profoundly good at being a friend. Maybe because I have been thinking about her so much since she left us, I have visited her Facebook page a dozen times over the past few weeks. Although I shouldn’t be surprised, I am astonished at just how many close friends Jeannie had and how deeply they are affected by her passing. There is a common theme in the messages people write about Jeannie and not only does it reveal the kind of friend she was to so many people, but it also feels like a kind of instruction manual for how to be a good friend—and maybe even how to live a really good life.
Jeannie was the kind of friend you called first when you were sad or in trouble. And this is not because Jeannie thought she had all the answers or could fix everything; it was because Jeannie always knew just what to say to make you feel better. Jeannie was the kind of friend you called if you had a really important secret or some really juicy gossip. She was loyal and trustworthy and nonjudgmental. She would always open her home and her heart to you if you needed a place to stay or a shoulder to cry on. Jeannie was up for anything. She was fun and funny. She laughed easily, often at herself, and her laugh was spontaneous and infectious. She knew dirty jokes and made strong margaritas. You could call Jeannie up at the last minute and she would change her plans to meet you for happy hour. Jeannie was good at maintaining friendships from all phases of her life. She kept in touch. She always called you back shortly. She was crafty and could make cool things and was happy to teach you to do that too, even if you weren’t very good at it. She played good music in the car and always sang. Loudly. She was a patient listener and let you tell your story, even if you were tipsy and rambling on too long. In essence, Jeannie had a kind and gentle soul and the more I learn about her, the more I realize that the light and comfort she brought to our family for so many years, she also brought to each and every one of her friendships. It is profound to see the impact she had on the people in her life, how incredibly loved she was and how deeply she will be missed.
So, as I think about my intentions for 2023, I am seeing that my ideas about making the most of my time here on earth have shifted a little, thanks to Jeannie. Yes, I want to try and make the world a better place. Yes, I want to live fully in my gifts and explore the world as much as humanly possible, but I also want to be a little more like Jeannie. A little more easy-going, a little better at being a peacekeeper, a little better at listening without judgment. A little more patient. And gentle.
I will end this meditation with my deepest condolences to the people closest to Jeannie—her loving husband, her wonderful children and grandchildren, and her sisters and brother. I am so sorry for your profound loss and can only pray that you find some modest comfort in your understanding of just how much our Jeannie was loved.
May her sweet soul rest in peace.
