5.Versluys'.us

Unfortunately for my dear mother-in-law, who visited our red house a week and a half ago, her visit has not yet been documented in the annals of Versluys history (this blog).

Also unfortunately for Mom V, she arrived in Wrightwood during a particularly bad week for me. I will dedicate the next post to several cute photos of Oma with her granddaughters, but first I will share the reason for the down week.

I learned on Wednesday, November 19, that my friend Jill had passed away on the previous Thursday. When I called her husband back, I was praying it was a surprise party that prompted him to call me and leave a message saying only, “it’s about Jill.”

Sadly, there was no party except the one in heaven. Which, I’m sure, was quite grand and all, especially with Jill as the guest of honor, but the mood here on earth wasn’t exactly festive.

We don’t know the reason for her death, but I do know that I was only one of many dear friends at her funeral on Friday (the 21st).

Jill was my first “real” boss. She gave me my first writing job in the Public Relations department at University of Redlands, when I was a puny freshman with plenty of ego but little confidence in my writing skills. By the end of that school year, I didn’t just have the know-how to write press releases and obits; I had a genuine healthy pride in my work and a sense of accomplishment with every article I wrote. Jill was my first and best mentor – she didn’t just teach me how to be a decent writer, but she also demonstrated with each purple editor’s mark how I could better use the written word to reflect the beauty of life and the joys of family and friends.

Jill and I had some great debates. We both loved a good sparring session over Thai food or just sitting in her office above the quad. When I mentioned my pro-choice friends in that interview, I specifically thought of Jill. Jill was the perfect example of a tender-hearted pro-choice person who felt the conflict of life vs. death and could not reconcile her beliefs. I honestly think she couldn’t figure out how, from the perspective of her own experiences, to love both an “unwanted” baby and a desperate mother. Jill was the kind of person who couldn’t abandon anyone in need.

Believe it or not, when I couldn’t find a single faculty member at UoR to take on the controversial role of advisor to my pro-life club, Jill stepped up. This is the woman who went to the same women’s college as Hillary Clinton and supported her fellow alum in the recent elections. But you know, Jill believed everyone has a right to be heard. She also believed that I was motivated by love and concern for the well-being of others – Jill would never put her name on anything that wasn’t respectful and considerate.

In the end, I think all the laughing and joking we did over lunch in regards to our very differing opinions was a smokescreen. I hope and believe that Jill was affected by my arguments for life, while I was deeply impacted by her unwavering defense of the broken and downtrodden of society.

I hadn’t seen Jill in several years since moving to Colorado, which made the news of her death that much more painful. We had kept in touch regularly, but the last time we sat down to a spirited conversation was when I told her I was marrying Eric. She never met my girls, and for that I wept doubly hard at her funeral. Jill loved children, and I know she loved my kids as best she could from afar while looking forward to meeting them soon.

I had the joy of watching her marry her best friend, and received the gift of her and Kevin’s attendance at my wedding. She won’t be present at my funeral, but I represented our friendship at hers. We were quite the odd couple from the outside – she, a beautiful tall Creole woman from Los Angeles, and me, a straight-haired pale girl from a ski resort town. But we found our similarities below the surface, in our passion for civil rights and free speech, our love for writing and the smell of paper, and our desire to learn from each other and from life.

For those of you to whom the name Jill Walker Robinson meant little, I hope you will now recognize in her name a significant piece of my life and heart.

This is Jill with her husband Kevin and best friend Suli at her last birthday party:

And although I can’t hear Jill’s laughter, I know she’ll get a kick out of this final tribute…

My latest newsletter for Survivors just went out. I think we have about 5,000 people on our mailing list, folks who care about the fight for life and the need to do something now to defend the defenseless. The people who generally read this newsletter are those who support the work of the Survivors and are excited to see young people standing up for the truth.

I wrote the cover article for the last issue, and did the editing/layout for the whole newsletter. Jill’s reaction to this newsletter, if I had placed it in front of her, would have been to laugh. She would have been proud of me for any number of reasons, from the article to which she would have gladly taken her purple editor’s pen, to the fact that I am purposefully making a small impact in the world. She might have rolled her eyes at the subject matter, knowing my zeal for this cause and her yet unreconciled opposing beliefs, but she would have done so with unreserved affection.

I miss you terribly, Jill, and I hope that when my children read this post someday in the future they will finally be able to meet you.