To Jane

Today, on what would have been Jonathan’s 38th birthday, I learned of the death of my dear friend Jane Parker Heath Donohue. She was 64, and she died June 9, a year and a half ago, and I didn’t know.

We arrived in San Francisco a couple of days ago, and planned to call Joe and Jane, and spend at least a day with them, reliving old times and old memories. But the phone number didn’t work, and I finally found her on Google. But it wasn’t the news I was prepared for.

Jane and I were writers at Young & Rubicam in the 60’s. We were the same age, and we married about the same time, and we were very much alike … and very different.

Jane was 6’2”. The tallest girl I ever knew. She was funny and smart and real and assertive and kind and clever and … tall. She was very, very tall. And she introduced me to California. She showed me San Francisco, the Russian River, Stinson Beach, Sausalito and Wine Country. Before that, living in New York, she showed me how to lob an egg out a window, but that’s a story about a much sillier time.

On one of our visits to San Francisco, she took care of Jonathan when he was just 6 months old. We hadn’t had a break in all that time, and she said go, leave him with me and have some fun. So we went out for dinner, and when we got back we learned that he had fussed intermittently for all the time we were out, because we had brought pajamas that were too small and they were uncomfortable.

But Jane handled it all, and he did get to sleep, the feet of his too-short onesie now cut off and in the garbage, and we had our night out, and she was a gem for dealing with our unhappy baby.

She introduced us to her San Francisco friends, took us to the beach, and showed us around her new town. We were enchanted.

Jane was the kind of friend you could call and start a sentence with “And so I ….” And she would laugh and get it and continue the sentence. She always knew my voice. She always got my silly sense of humor.

She kept a bucket in her shower to save water for San Francisco’s water shortage. She recycled before it was fashionable. She had dogs and cats and animals she loved unconditionally. She taught Down Syndrome kids how to swim. She was a committed volunteer for good causes. She would have campaigned for Obama.

She always worked, never took life for granted, and always had a point of view. A Vassar girl, she was generally smarter than anybody who tried to challenge her opinions. And I remember, too, that because she was tall and athletic and no pushover, she was an object of lust around the office. Interesting in a time when the dumb blonde was supposed to be the sex symbol and brains and brawn weren’t thought to be attractive. All the short guys thought she was hot.

Jane, I will miss you. You taught me to play King’s Corners, cook with Le Creuset, say f*&k when it was called for, challenge fools, drink Black Russians and try new things. Like lobbing an egg out a window and onto Fifth Avenue, just to see it explode.

And when I see you again inside the Pearly Gates, I’m sure you’ll greet me with, “And as I was saying …”