Celebrating life stories...



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Memorial created 12-2-2010 by
Cendra Lynn
Janet Mann
May 2 1944 - December 1 2010


I am Janet Mann mom to Melanie, David and Marie. I came to GriefNet a little over a year ago when I joined the internet (updated May 28, 1997). My daughter Melanie was killed in an automobile accident on March 3,1990 along with the father of her baby and the unborn baby girl Casey. The car hydroplaned on a rain slick highway into the path of an oncoming vehicle. All were killed instantly. Melanie was 15 years of age and a freshman in high school. Even though I have two other children, both on their own, one in college and one just graduated, my world came to an end.

Over the last 7 years I have had my ups and downs with my grief. By continuing to share my experiences, strength and hopes with other bereaved parents my life has new meaning. One of the lessons I have learned from Melanie's life is to love unconditionally. Not close my eyes to others needs and help them along when I can. To look at the total person, not just one part. There is a great deal of love and caring inside each of us if we're only willing to share it. That is why I came to GriefNet and volunteered to help in any way I could to keep GriefNet up and running so everyone who needs us can have a safe place to come to find help with their grief.
Janet, mom to Melanie 11/16/74-03/03/90, maw maw to (Casey 3/03/90)

"Be assured, when you see a tear on a cheek, a heart is touched."

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I was able to have the privilege of calling Janet my wife for 23 years. We saw a lot of life's ups and downs in that time and everything that life would throw at us that  would drive others apart, drew us closer.  Her never ending love for GOD, life, family, and others would overcome everything. I  have found I love her more now than I did when we first met. So my love, my life, I will see you on the other side. Just not yet; God must have other plans for me. What they may be, I don't know. I do know that by trusting in God and using what you taught me that nothing is insurmountable. You showed me how to dig deep when strength fails and and overcome any obstacle. So my Love, my Life I will not say goodby, just see you later love.


<3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3   <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3  <3


Goodby, dear Janet.  You’ve been such a friend.  You were the one who spent hours on the phone with me for years back when GriefNet was just a tiny dot on the internet.  You not only understood grief all too well, you also understood helping the bereaved.  You were a mainstay of the grieving parents’ support groups here on line.  You realized early on that our existence was vital, needed, and part of the larger plan.  We agreed that the internet had been brought to us by aliens to help save us from ourselves.  You recognized the spiritual magic that drew together those who found safe haven at GriefNet, and knew that was part of the aliens plan.  You also saw these aliens as angels. 
Your lived your faith in the God you believed in, in life, in the human spirit, and through you grace happened over and over again.  Those nights when I sat on my back steps and cried because some member had written a nasty letter, you listened and comforted and helped me grow a skin that allowed the nastygrams to no longer penetrate.  You brought me up from unwitting founder to conscious director, and you set in motion GriefNet’s ability to continue to reinvent itself.  Because of you, GriefNet grew up to encompass the planet, and anyone on the internet in outer space.  You saw, and helped us see our mission.  Because of your work, thousands of bereaved people have been comforted.  You helped save lives, lives that you knew were in peril because of the spiritual devastation that follows the death of one’s child.  You defined a spiritual space here where those in anguish can share their grief and bear witness to that of others.
Bill put the photo of you on the phone on the home page of your memorial as a chuckle, but that was our JanJan.  You were always talking to someone.  You knew the value of talk and the value of listening, and even before the unlimited hours of talk we now have on cell phones, you never worried about the cost.  If someone needed to talk, you listened; if you needed to talk, you called.   And though we never got to meet in person, we held each other’s secrets of the heart so carefully and caringly.  We must have spent several hundred hours talking, hundreds more writing emails, and it was only your decline in health that slowed it down.  We were closer than some kinfolk because we were chosen friends.  Thrown together by grief and loss, we found we were kindred spirits, had been there, done that, worn out the T-shirts, and we celebrated our friendship.
Others have followed in your footsteps at GriefNet and we now have over a dozen different groups for grieving parents.  But no one has filled your shoes.  No one could.  How many people can, or would, describe themselves as old hippies plus grieving parents plus madly in love with their husband plus ornery as a snake?  How many people just keep taking in strays of any kind, giving them nurture, building their hope, and sending them on their own missions – missions they may not have known they had before you worked them over?  You befriended so many people that if we could teleport them all here today, we’d have to move this celebration of your life to a stadium.  And I’m sure you’d know a number of people who could arrange that!   People who knew you were never more than two or three degrees of Kevin Bacon away from anyone else on the planet.  You almost knew all 6.9 billion of us, and you remembered every single one of us.
As we will remember you, sweet Janet.  We won’t take you out of our email address books and sometimes mail will go to your address because we forgot you don’t use it any longer.  We’ll still think about phoning you.  We’ll want to give you our latest updates and get your approval and your love.  And that won’t end.  Ever.  Just as I still think about visiting my grandmother who died in ’77, I’ll think about chatting with you.  I’ll cry.  I’m crying now.  We’re all crying.  If there ever was anyone who knew the healing power of tears, it’s you.  Yup.  I can hear you saying “I’m in every one of y’all’s tears.”  And we reply, “Janet, you’ll always be in our hearts.”
Oh, whoops!  You’re rolling down my cheeks again.  Farewell, dearest friend.
With love forever,



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