Heather was the only other person I ever knew who enjoyed rain as much as I did. One raining summer day in Lexington, we looked at one another, squealed, and ran out of the house to a nearby playground. We wore jeans that got soaked and stuck to our skin like tape, our hair dripped and our feet were squishy sounding. We were young and silly, and thrilled to be alive. I think we both caught colds soon after, but I can still feel the wet denim and the delightful, impish grin on Heather's face. Someone once told me that a friend will visit you in jail, but a true friend will be in the next cell yelling "Wasn't that a ride?". I can picture her next cell over. 

In our last conversation with Heather, her voice was hesitant, but there was no mistaking the quiet laugh as we reminded her of an episode that occurred on a trip to Mexico twenty or so years ago.  She was the fun-loving sweet aunt walking with our grandchildren, Grant and Larke, as Gerd and I walked ahead crossing an extremely large plaza.  We became puzzled when we were bombarded by every peddler in the plaza, each urging us to purchase their wares.  Only later did we learn that at the behest of Heather, aided and abetted by the kids, all the peddlers were deflected from then--TO US.  Each was told that they had no money, but WE would buy whatever they were selling.  Thanks, Heather!  (But in retrospect, it was funny!)

We have hesitated and faltered in writing about our sweet Heather as any words we find are so inadequate to express our grief and our sense of loss.  The 1000 miles that separated our homes kept us apart physically, but in addition to the phone calls--Heather always acknowledged special occasions--there was an intense bond that held her to us, and that we loved so much.  Those phone calls, two within the last month, were wonderfully long and pleasant.  As always, it was a delight to hear her beautiful voice, and her lilting laugh always brought a shared joy.  Heather could be counted on for intelligent conversation; yet only once in our 40-year relationship did we ever hear the word "mensa" from her lips.  Her interest in the world of ideas, art, politics, economics, travel--to mention just a few of those areas she had knowledge of--enriched us every time we talked to her.
How did we think there would always be time?  We needed to let Heather know without a doubt that she was deeply loved.  She needed to know that as long as we live she will be cherished and not forgotten.   Both of those are true.  Our tearful farewell the day before she passed away left our hearts shredded.  May she now rest in heavenly peace.

I just wanted you to know how sweetly Heather, touched my life.  In South Africa last year, we went to Table Mountain together on one of the free afternoons.  Heather was so calm and gentle and understanding when I balked at going up the mountain on the gondola.  She had really wanted to go but quickly surrendered that desire in her concern for my discomfort.  We walked along the roadway that cut halfway up the mountain and provided the base for the gondola ride. We just walked, slowly, taking in the view.  I don't remember exactly what we talked about, but I clearly remember her presence...so accepting, giving and with a little twinkle of a smile at the corner of her mouth.  

Heather loved beauty.  She loved the seasons.  She loved snow, which after leaving for California when I was young, truly escaped me why this could be, but it was the beauty of it.  In fact, as I write to you now, I use a mouse pad that is, you guessed it, a snowy picture.  The expressions of beauty always enchanted her.  She was a gifted artist and the youngest of the family by 6 years. At Easter she was given the hallway to search for her eggs. A few years ago she showed me one she’d kept all those years. My mother (and in fact her mother) were all artists with no confidence, as was Heather who was just healing that story. She showed me one she'd kept that Mom had created for her.  My mother would sit after we all had gone to bed, to pierce a hole in each end of an egg and then to draw and paint a lovely design, painting with a wash of watercolors and adding a bit of ribbon or lace on the egg (she used to make us dresses on her sewing machine).  She would add our name and place it in a bit of grass and a few tiny chocolate eggs for us to find.  Far more than the large chocolate rabbit (probably consumed before breakfast) was the delight and love held in that beautiful egg.  It inspired Heather.  One of so many, many stories

In 1987 while at MetLife, I worked on a remodel of office space in downtown San Francisco. One of my jobs was communication. The question was--how do you make a work newsletter fun and something someone might read?

Heather and I discussed this on one of our many walks and somehow came up with the idea of the Gnus (pronounced like news). Then the question was getting the pictures to include in the newsletter. Heather volunteered to draw them. Once drawn, I would take them to work, tape them onto the sheets of text and then photocopy them. 

For 4 months, Heather and I would brainstorm ideas and then Heather would draw the Gnus. Heather was incredibly generous of her time, gentle humor and ability to draw.