Heaven's latest angel

Today my heart is heavy with a stone sadness. My head is light as confused thoughts clamor for space with warm memories. My stomach is sour, for I am reminded yet again that the world is too often unfair.

Heaven's latest angel no doubt took the fast track through the pearly gates. If there is an express lane to check in with St. Peter, Jeanne-Marie Gramlich Finan surely would have qualified under a 12 sins or less criteria. I imagine Jeannie standing before St. Peter, respectful yet expectant, looking up at him with her warm round eyes; Jeannie was so petite in stature that she had to look up at most of the world. Then I think, maybe in Jeannie's heaven, her stature has grown to match her massive character.

I had the good fortune to know Jeannie all of my life. She and her sister were my "cousins", her parents my "Aunt" and "Uncle". They are framily, (a term introduced to me by my 10-year-old): Literal friends who are more like family. They lived upstairs and we lived downstairs in a two family house in Secaucus, NJ. But it wasn't until they moved -- first to Westchester County, NY, then to Chicago -- that our respective friendships deepened. Miles and years have not dampened our love and respect for all the members of our framily: My Mother cites Aunt Kathy as one of her dearest friends; Uncle Bill served as a pallbearer for my Dad and still does Mom's taxes. An email from Jacqui, a Facebook ping from Jeannie always brightens my day. But today my day is dark.

A woman of deep, unquestioning faith, Jeannie was still in close touch with friends from her Catholic elementary school. In fact, her star shined so brightly as an eighth grader, that she made an impression on the man who would become her husband while riding the bus. Years later Jeannie was teaching elementary school, she was looking for a soldier with whom her class could correspond. A friend reminded her that Bill Finan was just back from the (first) Gulf War. Jeannie reached out to him. Did he remember her? Indeed.

Bill was now a tall, strapping New York City police officer. He visited her class in suburban Chicago. They fell in love and married. He moved her back to the place where her heart never left, Westchester. Bill's work busting narcotics perps was dangerous. Jeannie kept busy raising their girls -- first Kathleen, named for Jeanne's mother; then Laura Jeanne, the heir to her own mother's name. And she prayed. She prayed for her husband's safety, for her children's health. When the towers fell, Bill stayed at the site, cleaning debris, looking for survivors. Jeanne prayed for her husband's health, for the safety of all.

Not quite ten years later, we were put in the prayer seat. Jeanne's cancer was diagnosed this spring, right around the time my own brother was declared "cancer free". "Give him a hug for me," she instructed my mother. The recipient of her own tremendous diagnosis, she selflessly cheered a cancer survivor. Jeanne endured a course of treatment few can survive. The doctors were impressed, cautiously optimistic. We were optimistic, but Jeanne's strength was something with which we were all familiar. It was my great honor to pray for my framily. On my knees, in the middle of the night, in the shower. I prayed for Jeanne and for all who loved her. I prayed for divine intervention. I prayed for justice.

But cancer is a fickle fiend. It can be deceitful. It can lure you into temporary relief. Remission is not a guarantee. And for Jeanne-Marie, it was all too brief. Her last weeks were not comfortable. But they were filled with love. Her husband, daughters, parents and sister, extended family and legions of friends supported her in person, in spirit, and in prayer. Heaven's latest angel lifted off this earth last night, free from her weakened body, her tremendous spirit soaring. Fly sweet Jeannie. Fly.