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Janice was a special person to a lot of people, who met her both in person and online. As her spouse, I knew she was special from the moment I felt her presence, and although our time together was cut short, the happiness we shared and our memories will last a lifetime.

 

Janice lived life to the fullest and enjoyed each day that she could. She made me laugh everyday with her smart sense of humor or just by drawing smiley faces on the fruit cups I take take to work.  The world will be a duller place without her in it. She was everything to me, and I miss ​ her terribly. My love for her will carry on. 

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I know her friends loved her and will miss her, too.

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Because Janice was so limited to the house for so many years, and because so many of her friends are among medically vulnerable populations, with coronavirus and long covid (which overlaps with some of her "late effects" from childhood cancer treatments) being more of a threat than people will acknowledge, she did not want to put those she loved at risk, so asked that there be no in-person memorial at this time. It is possible I will have a small outdoor gathering at one of the places she loved, to scatter some ashes and remember her, happy there. 

In March 2020, Janice had entered the actively-dying phase but restarted life-extending measures to help me through the pandemic. Neither her medical team, nor Janice, nor I thought that would go on weeks to months, but somehow she lasted, glad to be here for me and activism, angry and despairing and hopeful and loving at the same time.

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Now, her suffering has ended. If you know how hard her last years were, she would love you to raise a glass of anything you love (alcoholic or not), slam it, and shout, "Finally!" 

Before lockdown, she had planned a small gathering that I called a "celebration of life" which Janice felt was a mouthful, so she alternately called "the shindig" and "the cash grab," because she wanted one last opportunity to make a difference.  Please see the Donations page for her preferred organizations and donate if you can and wish. Also, if you would like to share a story, joke, memory, or photo, you can send to me via button on the Stories page or the public Facebook page.
 
For the gathering she'd planned, she had chosen to have the song  "Tear" by Red Hot Chili Peppers played, because the lyrics (albeit some are nonsense) reflected the way she tried to live. Despite her medical challenges and many losses, she still loved "every rise and fall" and strongly believed in telling people how you felt about them now because "you never know."

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Love, Greg

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Please turn sound on.

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Special thanks to Eleanor Templeton for the slideshow.  

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Had we met in-person, the beloved members of Janice's  writers' group were going to read aloud her favorite poem: 

What the Living Do 

Marie Howe 

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably

     fell down there.

And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes

     have piled up

 

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we 

    spoke of. 

It's winter again: the sky's a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight

    pours through

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the open living room windows because the heat's on too high in here, and

     I can't turn it off. 
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street,

    the bag breaking,

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  I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying

    along those

wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my

    wrist and sleeve,

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I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. 

Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you you called

    that yearning. 

 

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to

    pass. We want

whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and

    then more of it. 

 

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the
    window glass,

say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing

    so deep

 

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm 

    speechless:

I am living, I remember you. 

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I want to thank everyone for coming to Janice's memorial website, and for all the love & support you all have given to me.

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– Greg
 

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