My Girl
My girl remains forever in my heart and forever on my mind. Life does go on, but it will never be the same without my Dee Dee.
“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone?”
Joni Mitchell
Regular RGG readers and subscribers will know by now that I lost my better half and my life partner, Dee Dee, this past May 15th. This offering today, while elegiac in sum and substance, serves also as a mildly cautionary reading. Relax. I’m not going to get overly maudlin, and I’m not going to get preachy. I’m just going to lay some facts on you, and some thoughts that I have regarding those facts. I’ll tell you some things about my girl that many of her relatives, friends, and aquaintances may know, but many other RGG readers and subscribers may not. I’ll tell you some things that only I know. I’ll tell you what I treasure, and I’ll tell you what I regret. And I’ll tell you what I’d do if I had the whole thing to do over again.
Stick around. This’ll be good. And it might, some day, even be helpful to you. (But I wish with all my heart that you’ll not need it.)
What can I tell you about my girl? Lean in. I’ll introduce you…
Dee Dee was the founder, owner, and operator of the retail establishment, Customs Imports, in downtown New Buffalo, Michigan. The store, like Dee Dee, was absolutely one of a kind. She raised this establishment from its infancy, and nurtured it. Treasured it. She stocked it with unusual and breathtakingly beautiful merchandise from all over the world, particularly from the Indonesian island of Bali. For over thirty years, she’d made an annual, month-long pilgrimage to that tropical paradise to purchase her store’s remarkable product. Along the way, she found the time to implement a “Lipstick Mission,” collecting donations of every shade of lipstick imaginable from generous souls in the USA and delivering them to the ladies living in some of Bali’s most remote and impoverished villages. Needless to say, her efforts were appreciated, and her kindness made her a legend among the villagers of Bali. She may just as well have been handing out gold coins.
Dee Dee was an upstanding – and outstanding – member of the New Buffalo business community, operating Customs Imports in several locations over the years, and serving as a member of New Buffalo’s Downtown Development Association. She was also the owner and publisher of the local newspaper, The New Buffalo Times, for a number of successful years. Her business activities brought her into contact with a huge number of people – and from among that number, she cultivated many wonderful friendships.
In the little resort town of New Buffalo, Michigan, my Dee Dee was a giant. In the words of our very dear friend, Katha Kissman, she was a rock star. People were drawn to her.
Mary Dee Duhn was born in Macon, Missouri and grew up on her parents’ farm there. Her family and friends called her Dee Dee. From a very young age, she worked the land and tended the animals with her father, often while wearing a dress and patent leather shoes. (Dee Dee was forever in fashion.) She was baptized in the Zion Lutheran Church in Macon, and attended services on Sundays with her parents and her sister, and, while still a little girl, became the congregation’s organist. She graduated from Macon High School in 1969, and studied fashion merchandising in Kansas City, Missouri, Quincy, Illinois, and in Europe. Shortly after completing her coursework, she embarked upon a remarkable career with Estée Lauder as field sales manager, ensuring that Lauder products found their way into stores, and homes, in 30 states across the country.
Dee Dee’s adventurous spirit was legendary. She traveled the world, visiting such countries as India, France, England, Italy, Turkey, China, and Mexico, to name only a few. Before Dee Dee and I met, she’d lived in Dallas, Chicago, and Kansas City, and learned to climb massively high mountains in Durango, Colorado. Notably, she was once part of a mountain climbing expedition attempting to scale a nearly 19,000 foot peak in the Himalayan Annapurna Mountain range in Nepal.
Although her business acumen was impressive, and her sense of adventure and personal fortitude were unparalleled, what was most remarkable about Dee Dee was her integrity, her kindness, and her gentle soul. She championed the underdog, loved animals, adored her parents and older sister, and always kept her word.
And, inexplicably, she loved me.
When my girl Dee Dee died, a part of me died with her. And the world lost one of its greatest citizens.
Come closer. I’ll tell you some things…
It seems that many times, when it comes to really well-known people (in Harbor Country, the area along the shores of Lake Michigan stretching from easternmost Indiana through the cluster of lakeside towns in westernmost Michigan, Dee Dee was really, really well-known), what you see is not always what you get, and this is at least partially true in Dee Dee’s case. Of course, her character, goodness, and kind heart were resonant, and people were drawn to the outward manifestations of these traits: when you’re packed with good things, you simply can’t conceal them. But with Dee Dee, there were layers of good things. Layers upon layers upon layers, actually. I was uniquely positioned to experience the profundity of Dee Dee’s goodness – the core of it – just as I was uniquely positioned to know her fears…
Dee Dee would pull waterlogged moths, butterflies, and every kind of otherwise doomed insect from our ponds. She’d dry their wings, tend their traumatized little bodies, and send them on their various courses of adventure once she’d helped them recover.
Gleaming terror would shine in her eyes whenever we’d pull clumps of overgrown algae from those same ponds and find tadpoles ensnared therein. She wouldn’t unfurrow her brow (or breathe) until every last pollywog was freed and returned to friendly waters.
The actual death of an animal, or the literary or cinematic representation of such a tragedy, would inspire acute sadness in Dee Dee, and, as hard as she’d try to not shed a tear, they would flow when she thought I wasn’t around to see. (Though not given to public episodes of such lacrimal cavalcades, hers was the most sensitive of hearts, and the lives of all who needed championing – whether animals, plants, or humans – were particularly precious to her. The death of an underdog would result in active and aching, yet completely private, expressions of grief.)
I think that this is what was so utterly remarkable about my girl Dee Dee: Not just her extreme sensitivity, but the extreme lengths to which she’d go in order to keep her grief private. She rarely looked for solace, and she never sought pity.
And grief wasn’t the only thing she’d kept private. Dee Dee was probably the most generous person I’ve ever known. Her generosity was limitless, and it’s presence ubiquitous. Yet she never sought recognition for her kindness or her munificence. She’d donate anonymously and assist surreptitiously. This was always her way.
Dee Dee’s own satisfaction and well-being always came last. She placed the utmost premium on my happiness – me, an undeserving oaf. And our two rescued, game bred pit bulls, Tony and Clarabelle? Their willingness to happily duke it out at a moment’s notice necessitated a great deal of personal sacrifice on Dee Dee’s part. But she was hopelessly in love with them, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
To me, she confided her greatest fear. “I don’t want to die alone. Homeless. On the street.” And here, she quietly intimated her gratitude for our union.
During the relatively early stages of our relationship, shortly after Dee Dee had returned from one of her annual buying trips to Bali, she confessed something to me during a long telephone conversation. She told me that in Ubud, on the island of Bali, in a secluded section of forest near her long-time accommodations, she had fashioned something of a little shrine. The location of this little sacred place was well off the beaten path, and it was known to Dee Dee and Dee Dee alone. Here, near a very large rock and a distinctive clump of trees, she had placed a stone cross. On the ground before the cross, and under its aegis, obscured by vegetation and insulated from disruption, Dee Dee had placed a certain number of carefully selected stones. She explained to me that each stone represented someone she loved dearly. There were very, very few stones: one for her mother, her father, her sister (her only sibling), and for each of her beloved dogs (both living and deceased). During that telephone call, after she’d just returned from Bali, and with a wicked Midwestern winter storm raging outside, she told me that in that eternally special and hallowed little place on the other side of the world, she’d placed a stone for me. As far as I was concerned, no further words would ever be necessary to assure me of her love for me. But she always told me anyway.
Come closer still. Don’t be alarmed. For this, I can only manage a whisper…
Sometimes, a man can know of no darker place than his own heart. To be alone there, with his thoughts and his memories – with his regrets – amidst the echoes of a shared life cut short and forever lost to this Earth, constitutes a hellish, oblique wandering across a borderless and desiccated wasteland. A man who finds himself in such a place is utterly alone. And he possesses neither a map nor a compass…
On June 14th, I visited Dee Dee’s hometown of Macon, Missouri. I’d never been there before in spite of the many conversations Dee Dee and I had over the years about making a road trip – I’d always wanted to visit her parents’ graves and the little Lutheran church where she’d played the organ, and I’d always wanted to see her girlhood home. (There was no rush; we knew we had time.) I met Dee Dee’s sister, Carla, in Macon that day, and her cousin Tammy, and her family, as well. And among other things, I did visit her parents’ graves at the Missouri Veterans’ Cemetery (like my own father, Dee Dee’s dad was a WWII veteran) and the church where she’d played her organ (the little building was still there and was, in fact, now a Baptist church – Zion Lutheran had moved to a different location in Macon), and, I did see her girlhood home.
And it was here in Macon, this little Midwestern town where the love of my life was born and raised, that my heart finally seized. Up to this point, since the time of Dee Dee’s death on May 15th, I’d been numb; in shock, truthfully. But on June 14th, in this little town, which boasted a population of somewhere between 4,100 and 4,500 souls during the time that Dee Dee grew up there, the tapestry of her past was woven with threads spun from both the certainty of her firsthand recollections, and my own mystery-imbued imaginings and wonderings of the life of a little girl who would capture my heart as a woman. And this tapestry revealed itself to me at once in absolute clarity, and in tantalizing evanescence. Gossamer glimpses of a past of which I was never part were forged into bold and tactile relief by the certainty of the locational hallmarks of Dee Dee’s girlhood in this town. This achingly beguiling tapestry enshrouded me, and its enthralling power permeated my soul and stilled my heart.
At the little brick building that was once the Zion Lutheran Church, I gripped the ancient iron handrail and set my foot upon the first of the worn concrete steps. I imagined a little blonde girl gripping that handrail with one hand, and her mother’s hand with the other, and I saw those little patent leather-shod feet set resolutely on these old steps. I felt the warmth from that small hand on the iron rail, and I heard the click of the heels of those little shoes on the treads. I imagined that little girl’s enormous heart filled with a mixture of love, pride, and excitement in anticipation of Sunday’s service, and the vitally important role that she would play in it as Church Organist. I felt these things while I stood on the steps of Dee Dee’s Zion Lutheran Church. I knew these things.
On that June day in Macon, the next stop (it was really a series of slow passes in the car) was Dee Dee’s childhood home. Once again, I was overcome by the power of this woman’s past to enrapture me. And again, the actuality of my Dee Dee’s childhood was for me a synthesis of her remembrances and of my own imaginings as informed by a life with this little girl as my adult mate.
As we drove past Dee Dee’s girlhood home the first time (slowly, of course,), I took in the house and its surroundings: an old white, two-story frame farmhouse situated on a large expanse of land. I asked Carla to point out Dee Dee’s and her respective bedrooms. The rooms were on the second floor of the little white farmhouse – Carla’s was toward the rear of the house while Dee Dee’s faced the road in front. Looking up at Dee Dee’s bedroom window, I immediately recognized it as a gateway into the past – into Dee Dee’s childhood. And I physically shook. The tapestry was re-woven as I remembered Dee Dee’s stories of how she and Carla, as little girls, would play outside from dawn until dark in good weather (when they weren’t helping with chores). What did she dream after saying her nightly prayers in her bed in the second floor room beyond this window? What secrets did she keep? What wonders captivated her mind and brought joy to her heart? Did she sing to herself the lullabys her mother had sung to her? How badly did the dark frighten her? Was that the face of the lttle girl herself looking back out the window at me?
Outside, in that long ago daylight, what shapes did she see in the clouds overhead while she lay in the grass with her dog, Sweet Pea, curled up beside her? What nursery rhymes did she sing to her little pet lamb, Daffodil? When she fed her horse, Deeda Jean, how many carrots did she sneak for herself? What wishes did she make upon the stars on those Macon nights, before she climbed the stairs to her little bedroom on the second floor of that old farmhouse? Looking up at Dee Dee’s bedroom window that June day, these questions burned themselves into my heart, and they remain forever emblazoned there. That window, through which a little girl named Mary – but who everyone called Dee Dee – watched each new, exciting, promising day begin on her family’s farm, offered to me a misty, prismatic view of her childhood. Each facet of her girlhood here alternately glittered brightly with the light of fact, and shimmered in partial obscurity with the half-light of speculation. Through this window, my own heart was allowed a glimpse of the gentle, flaxen budding of my Dee Dee’s young life.
And as that heart of mine stopped for the second time on that June day in Macon, I was crushed by the realization that the embrace of all that each of us holds dear is as tenuous and ephemeral as a fog bank on a hot and sunny afternoon. The mysteries of my Dee Dee’s childhood, which would have been solved over the course of endless morning coffee conversations and evening dinner banter (with a smattering of road trips to Macon, Missouri thrown in, of course) throughout the years of a future that will never be, will always remain mysteries. The ghosts of those years in that beautiful little life, lived in that little farmhouse, is all I’ll ever know. My hybrid tapestry – part reality, part imagination – is now all that I have.
That, and regret.
Can I tell you how many times Dee Dee asked me to visit Bali with her, and how many times I demurred? “We’ve got time. We’ll get to it.” And can I tell you that now, Dee Dee’s little shrine, in her secret place in the forests of Ubud, where she’d placed a stone for each of us that she loved most in the world under the protection of a sacred cross, will go untended and unseen for the rest of time? I could have visited this special place with Dee Dee, and learned of its whereabouts and experienced firsthand its quiet power. I could have seen it; could have touched the cross, the stones. I could have tended it. Now it will exist in my heart and in my mind just as the shimmering, gauzy tapestry of Dee Dee’s childhood does. And its importance will live in my heart and in my mind, too, while the ancient Indonesian forest bears sole witness to the actuality – the poignancy – of Dee Dee’s private and heartfelt ministrations. What I wouldn’t give to watch over that special place. What I wouldn’t give to make sure all of those sacred stones remain exactly as Dee Dee had placed them so many years ago. “We’ve got time. We’ll get to it.” Sure.
I can only assume that regret is an intrinsic part of the grieving process. Is it normal? I’ve read that it is. It’s definitely normal for me. Regret (along with grief, of course) now comprises the biggest part of my own reality. In the midst of my overarching grief pound endless waves of these regrets, attended by rip currents of obtuse disorientation. The combination is crippling. My mantra, I’m finding, is “If only… ,” and it echoes ceaselessly throughout the darkness of my solitude and the vast expanses of my life’s void. It provides cadence – syncopation – to the aimless measure that now directs a directionless course. There were so many, many things that Dee Dee and I had planned to do together – and so many, many things that I had planned to do for Dee Dee – that will now never be done. I would give anything to have her back…
From my current vantage point, the mistakes I made are clear, and they certainly were avoidable. The acuity of hindsight is, after all, perfect. If I had things to do over again, and my Dee Dee was back by my side, I’d never take a single moment for granted. I would have done the things with and for Dee Dee that I should have done. With alacrity, and with a smile on my face. We would have visited Macon together, where the full textured pageant of Dee Dee’s life there would have been revealed to me by the lady herself – in the car, over coffees in the cupholders, or in the hotel room’s bed, in the dark, with a million stars (some of the very ones Dee Dee once wished upon) dotting the Macon skies overhead. I would have flown to Bali with my girl Dee Dee, and we would have visited her sacred little place in the forest. I would have laid my hands on her cross, and on each of her loved ones’ stones, including mine. I would have partaken there of her communion, and the moment would have lived forever in my heart and in my mind, as real as her cross and her smooth, sacred stones – as real as the flesh and blood woman I long to hold once more. I would have built that addition to the house. I would have flown to Colorado with her to visit Carla. I would have gone to the cineplex with her and seen that movie and eaten popcorn. I would have visited our parents’ graves with her. I would have given her that last back rub. I would have made her breakfast in bed. I would have lathered up her hair and I would have soaped up her back. I would have, I would have, I would have.
If only…
Dee Dee was mostly an optimist. And when she wasn’t, she didn’t show it. As I’ve told you, she kept her sadness private. She did place a premium on happiness – not just for herself, but for others, as well (one of many, many reasons she was loved by so many). Me, included. Me, especially. Though my grief is profound, and my regrets are plentiful, I’ll not disappoint my girl. I know she’d want me to understand that life does go on, and I know that she’d want for me nothing but happiness. So, I’ll try to oblige…
A few moments ago, as I was finishing the writing of this piece in the second floor room (which Dee Dee had long ago fashioned into an office for me) of our house, a heavy thunderstorm appeared practically out of nowhere, and dissipated just as quickly. In its wake, the sun shone briefly but mightily. I could not make up a better metaphor. In our house – my house, now – the vestiges of heartache do remain: The sound of a little girl’s heels, clacking as they skipped up the stairs to the Zion Lutheran Church, will fade, as will the notes that little girl played so proudly on her organ. The warm spot on the old iron handrail will cool. A different little girl – or boy – now gazes with wonder out of that second floor window at the promised miracles of a new day on that little farm in Macon. Green, growing moss will cover a sacred stone cross and the smooth little rocks it protects in a tiny, private shrine in the forests of Bali. I do grieve, because time will pass, and eternity, as it does with all things, will collect these milestones and will relegate them to anonymity. But my thoughts of these things – my imaginings – and my girl’s telling of them to me, will remain forever in my heart. To me, they’ll never be anonymous. Nor will the heart behind each of those milestones, or the love this remarkable, beautiful woman gave to me. And here in my house – our house – memories of a much more recent vintage, and of a much more material actuality, keep me company and make my heart leap: The musicality of Dee Dee’s voice, calling from the front door, “I’m home!” The sound of her feet on our stairs. The smell of her hair. The feel of her in my arms. Her breath tickling my ear. The grip of her hand in my own. Tony’s leash wrapped around her wrist. Clarabelle on her lap. A waterlogged moth in her hands as she dried its wings… These memories are mine. And they’re as real as the thunder, and the raindrops, and the sun.
My Dee Dee, I’ll never forget you. And I’ll love you forever.
John G. Stamos, July 11, 2023.
One of the things I’d been saying a lot over the last couple of months is that I didn’t deserve Dee Dee. When my sister heard this, aside from telling me to shut up, she told me that Dee Dee was a gift from God to me. Yep. That pretty much sums it up. And she was a gift to the community here in Harbor Country, and to the world at large, as well. Since she took so much pride in her business, and in the little town of New Buffalo, I thought it would be only fitting to fashion a permanent memorial to my mate and place it in a high-visibility area in downtown New Buffalo. I designed and purchased a bronze plaque for Dee Dee, which you’ll see below. Once it’s completed and I get it into my clutches, I’ll fasten it permanently to a big, beautiful limestone block. And the whole memorial assembly will be placed in the little park on Whittaker Street, “just across the way” from Dee Dee’s store, Customs Imports. My special thanks goes to my friend, Katha Kissman, for helping me settle on a location, and to New Buffalo Mayor John Humphrey and his excellent staff, and to the members of the New Buffalo City Council, for making the actual approval for Dee Dee’s memorial happen. You all have my most sincere thanks. May God bless you all.
My dear readers and subscribers, I thank you very kindly for giving this one a read. Dee Dee was everything to me, and I needed to get this written. And if you feel a little closer to Dee Dee as a result of reading it, even better. Of course, and as always, I’m grateful for your kind interest and readership.
Cheers, and Happy Gardening!
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Peace and love to you and cherish those beautiful memories you have shared! She will always be with you I’m sure of that.
☮️💜
Thank you so very much, Waz. I truly appreciate your kind thoughts and lovely words. I’m very, very grateful.
Dear John – I was an old friend of Dee Dee. We met over thirty years ago when she started her business in Miller Beach. She was beautiful both inside and out and that is why I stayed in touch with her thru the years. I am the guy who purchased the peacock mirror a day before she was leaving to Bali several years ago, and I thank God everyday, as it hangs on a main wall in my house that reminds me of her daily. I knew all about you, because she talked to me about you, because we had a common love for gardening. We often talked about going to dinner someday with you and my life partner “Mike”. Three days before her passing, I came to the store, she just got thru unpacking the container and I asked her how she was feeling. She told me she was very tired, I told her that she should be tired knowing about her “not so long ago” heart surgery. I was crushed to learn about her passing, via “Facebook”. I was also crushed to know that I missed her Memorial Service. She brought me sunshine even on the most gloomy of days, you certainly were blessed to have her as your life partner! Hugging you with my heart – Jack Denges
Thank you so much for your lovely thoughts, Jack. How very, very kind of you. Dee Dee thought the world of you. And yes, I am blessed to have shared my life with her. She was a wonderful lady with the kindest of hearts and most gentle of souls. And she was everything to me. Thank you so much for reading the piece, and again, thank you for your kind thoughts and words. I’m truly grateful.
What a wonderful tribute to my beautiful sister! John, we were truly blessed to have DeeDee in our lives. Each and every day there is something special that reminds me of DeeDee. She does live on in our hearts. May we follow DeeDee’s example and be reminded to live every moment to the fullest enjoying all of the beauty around us.
Thank you so much for your lovely thoughts, Carla. I’m so glad that you liked this piece. And you’re absolutely right on all counts: We are truly blessed to have had your beautiful sister in our lives – everyone who knew her really is, I think. She does indeed live on in our hearts, and following her shining example is fitting advice for everyone. I do know exactly how you feel – I’m constantly reminded of her in virtually all I see. Every. Single. Moment. Bless your heart, Carla. She loved you dearly. And I appreciate your beautiful thoughts and words. Thank you again, dear Carla.
Thanks for sharing your lovely Dee Dee with us. You are not alone, John… No matter how fully we live our lives, how excellent our good intentions are, or how carefully we try to plan our future; there are ALWAYS regrets that ALL of us have~
We.are.human.
Life.isn’t.perfect.
Keep on, Keeping on!!!
Love, Smiles & Prayers ALWAYS💗🤝💙
💝☺🙏
Such lovely and kind thoughts and such wonderful words… thank you so much, Cindy. I appreciate your reading the piece, and I am grateful beyond words for your kindness and compassion. Thank you, Cindy, so very, very much.
Dear John,
What a beautiful tribute to your dear Dee Dee. She was a remarkable woman. How beautifully worded, it leaves me silent💜
How incredibly kind of you, Ingeborg. I’m so glad you were able to take a moment to learn about Dee Dee. I believe you would have loved her, as she would have loved you. I thank you for your kindness and for your lovely thoughts and words. They are very dearly appreciated.
John, this is a very touching and heartfelt tribute to Dee Dee.
She was everything to me, Scott. It was the very least I could do. Thank you for reading it, and thank you for your kind words and thoughts. I truly appreciate it.
John, thank you so much for this piece, I feel like I know Dee Dee even though we’ve never met. Your love for each other is most definitely a gift from God and I hope you are able to continue finding strength in that love during this difficult time. God bless.
I can’t thank you enough for your kind words and thoughtfulness, Brian. I appreciate your reading the piece, and I’m very glad that you were able to glean at least some of the beauty of Dee Dee’s character from what I’d written. Your assessment of the gift of having Dee Dee in my life is a great comfort to me. I do completely agree. Thank you once again, Brian. I’m grateful beyond words.
This is such a lovely piece. A work of art. A work of love. Dee Dee was an angel here on Earth, and you were blessed to have her for the time you did…I wish you’d had more time together. She was perfect for you. She was truly a blessing.
John, I know you’ll keep her memory alive. You’ll tend to the garden you so lovingly created for her. You’ll look after all the little creatures and make sure they’re safe. I know it’s an incredibly painful time for you, John. I wish there was something any of us could do to make things better. You have so many beautiful memories of this lovely lady…the angel who let you into her heart…let those memories bring you comfort. Live with kindness, patience, compassion…be adventurous…nurture your beautiful garden…know that you are loved, and that one day, the pain will begin to ease. I love you, John. ❤️
My dearest little sister, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart for your incredibly beautiful words and thoughts. I believe you’ve hit the nail on the head… Dee Dee was (and is) an angel who let me into her heart. I could not ask for a greater privilege than this. And your advice is perfect: I will keep her garden tended, I will watch over all of the creatures – great and small – that call it home, and my memories of my Dee Dee will be my greatest and truest source of comfort. Your own kindness is appreciated more than words can describe, Tina. What you’ve written here will never be forgotten. Bless you, my dear, dear little sister. I love you, too.
So much I could say. I knew Dee Dee. Yet, based on your lovely lovely tribute, I know I did not “know” Dee Dee like you did, John. Only a true life match and a true soul mate could have written what you wrote. And, more importantly, your exquisite love for Dee Dee shines through with every word!
And I have two additional reasons to post, if I may …
One reason is my “friend” reason. Dee Dee was a truly special friend to me. So many accolades to share, but what I loved most was her limitless generosity of spirit and gift. I appreciated this so very much. I learned much from her by her example of “being.” This alone exemplars her place in our personal worlds.
Second reason — Dee Dee was the true epitome of a good “corporate citizen.” It wasn’t just Customs Imports that was known. Customs Imports (her “Baby”) was inextricably intertwined with Dee Dee the “Star.” And I offer “Star” in all the best senses of the word: She loomed large in our community. She added keen thinking, magic, twinkle, and deep, deep care to the New Buffalo Community. She was a shining star.
Your impact will live on, Dee Dee, and I am blessed to have known you!
Dear Katha, thank you so very much for this moving and beautiful testament to Dee Dee’s wondrous character and glorious spirit. Your beautiful words are also a testament to your amazingly perceptive appreciation of not only my own relationship with Dee Dee (I am grateful beyond words for this), but your own friendship with her, as well. You took the time to know and appreciate all of the facets of Dee Dee’s character (at least those she’d maximally reveal outside of our home – which to you, was substantial, and probably the greatest compliment she could have paid anyone) and grasp all of the gentle subtleties with which the core of her was imbued. And I can tell you without any equivocation whatsoever, she adored you and respected you more than words could possibly describe. On a personal note, I want to thank you – publicly, this time – for all of your incredible kindness, compassion, and concern for me throughout the incomprehensible aftermath of Dee Dee’s death. It hasn’t been easy for me (as you know, I lost my Tony three days after I lost Dee Dee), and your friendship has literally been a godsend. I know, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that Dee Dee is exceptionally grateful to you for the kindness you’ve shown me. Dee Dee loved you, Katha, and I believe her already paramount estimation of you has ascended beyond this limit and smashed the scale. She recognized fine character and appreciated it. And she still does. Deeply.
Such beautiful words for someone as beautiful…
-Waz
Thank you so much, Waz. I truly appreciate that. She really was a beautiful, remarkable lady. I wish you could have known her. I’m glad that this little piece revealed at least some of her beauty and kindness to you. Thank you once again, Waz. Your own goodness and kindness is truly appreciated.
A beautiful tribute to a beautifully spectacular lady. Thank you. I can barely write this – for the tears in my eyes.
Every time you rescue a moth that has fallen into water – she will be there – breathing thank you into your ear.
After every rescued tadpole – you will feel her arms circling you in invisible hugs and gratitude – as her voice whispers in your ear.
Blessings to you.
Your words are absolutely beautiful, Annie, and your compassion and sensitivity are dearly appreciated. I’m so glad I was able to at least partly convey to you the wondrous beauty and kindness of my remarkable Dee Dee. Again, Annie, I am forever grateful – thank you so very, very much.
I am speechless… tears are unstoppable..,
What a beautiful tribute of love to your sweet and beautiful Dee Dee, her eternal spirit is and always will be with you, and this true love which is so rare will one day reunite both of you again in this eternal love….
She lives in every flower, in every petal, leaf, drop of water, In everything around you her spirit is there… regrets of what you did not do are inevitable but at the end of it all the love you had for her worth everything ….
Both of you will forever be soulmates and be with each other again until the end of times, ❤️❤️❤️🌹🌹🌹
Blessings for your beautiful heart and soul 🙏🙏🙏
Roxxy, this is so incredibly beautiful. Thank you so much for these lovely words of comfort and compassion. I’m so glad that you feel as you do. I do believe that you’re right in all you’ve written, and it is this belief that keeps me going. Again, what you’ve written here is beautiful, and it is comforting beyond words. Thank you once again, dear Roxxy. I am forever grateful.
Dee Dee touched the hearts of all that knew her. She showed her love through her kind words and deeds. She showed each of us how to be a better person, and her memory will live in our hearts and souls. John, your loss is profound – take comfort in knowing that she loved you and she would want you to carry on and find peace.
This is very kind of you, Kevin. Thank you so much. Dee Dee was truly a treasure. She certainly was everything to me. Thank you for your kind words, and for your appreciation of Dee Dee’s amazing heart and spirit.
Might you, when the light in your garden strikes you as just right, build a sister shrine to hers…? When time feels just soft enough & you’ve got a few stones of similar meaning in your hand, might you bring that distant & seemingly lost
Holy spot into a kind & rediscovered place of healing ?
As always, I wish you ease.
This is such a wonderful idea, Rachel. Yours is a kind and loving heart. I actually do have a collection of such stones – used by Dee Dee in little mosaics she’d made throughout the years (which she’d eventually dismantled). But she’d kept the stones. So, thanks to your lovely suggestion, I will plan such a place. Thank you for your kindness, Rachel – it is very truly appreciated.
What a beautifully expressed tribute to such a remarkable soul… and the wonderful life and love you both shared… And for all you do to carry her memory forward… I do believe that love can never die and that her love still surrounds you, in both your good and bad moments, and especially when among people, animals and the beauty of nature that she loved so much.
Yes, regret is perfectly natural, but don’t ever let that regret stop you from following your heart to things you want to do… I think it’s so beautiful how you keep her alive in your memories, and it’s good that you realize that she would want you to be happy by doing things that you enjoy. ♡
P.S. When people ask me what place do you most want to visit I aways say Bali.
Bless your heart, Diane – what you’ve written here is beautiful, and a great comfort to me. Your recognition of Dee Dee as a beautiful soul touches my heart. I’m so glad that you appreciate her wondrous character, and the synergy between Dee Dee and me. You’re right – I feel her in all that I do and in everything I see. And I believe with all my heart that I will be reunited with her. Your Balinese travel predilection is such a beautiful and happy coincidence (if it’s indeed a coincidence at all). Your comments here are lovely, Diane, and I’m forever grateful to you for providing them. Thank you once again.
So very beautiful, John. I think regret must surely be in proportion to the love you had for her. Where there is no love there is no regret. Eternity would not have been long enough to do and share all that was in your heart to do and share with Dee Dee. Keeping you in my prayers.
This is lovely, Cathy – thank you so very much. Your kind words and lovely thoughts are truly a comfort to me. I believe that you’re absolutely right about regrets. It would be impossible to have none. And thank you for reading the piece. I’m hoping it helped you get to know Dee Dee a bit better. Again, Cathy, I thank you. I am very, very grateful for your kindness.
Thank you for sharing your innermost thoughts about Dee Dee. What an incredible woman. You mentioned a fear she had not to die alone. She didn’t. She had you and her sister until the end.
Thank you so much, Rick. I really appreciate these incredibly kind words and sentiments. She was indeed a remarkable woman. I was – and am – truly blessed. And of course, I appreciate your reading the piece. I hope it helped you get to know Dee Dee a bit better. Thank you once again, Rick.
Oh,John. Remembering the little things make her – the memories- keep her with you always. She does sound like a person that would be a gift to know. Annapurna? The most dangerous climb of all; how brave she must have been. All of those things we plan on doing one day, her life must have been so full. And she chose you. That was a gift too. Keep going about your days. DeeDee will be ever present with you. Love and peace to you.
How incredibly kind of you, Everly – thank you so very much. I’m glad that Dee Dee’s wonderful, special character resonated with you. She was everything to me, and I am lost without her. Your kind and compassionate thoughts and words here are truly and deeply appreciated. Thank you once again, Everly. I am forever grateful.
It is so serendipitous that DeeDee and you have much in common. We’ve spoken about it before. Though she was a phenom during her time on earth, I have to give her props for the way she led her life. Can’t say enough about her, but it made me smile when you mentioned her love of all creatures and dogs. While she had her Sweetpea growing up, I had my cocker Peavine. Maybe I will get to meet her someday, somewhere out there.
Thank you, Everly. She really was a remarkable woman. Her love of animals was profound. This is something to which I know you can acutely relate. (And, I do believe with all my heart that you will meet Dee Dee some day.) Thank you again, Everly. Your grasp of my situation, I know, is expert-level.
What an extraordinary human being she was! A person loved by all who met her, I’m sure. This beautiful article is a wonderful tribute to her (thank you for talking to us about your Dee Dee) and a homage to your great love. Very beautiful John. She’ll live forever in every plant of your garden, in every animal you love and in the oxygen you breathe. She’ll never leave you.
Thank you so very, very much, Maria. Your kind words and lovely thoughts have touched my heart. I am forever grateful. Bless your kind heart, Maria.
Your words are paint brushes, and your painting is a tribute to love. Beautiful.
Thank you so much for these beautiful words, and for your incredibly lovely and kind thoughts, Nicole. They mean the world to me. I am honored and forever grateful. Again, I thank you so very kindly, Nicole.
John I am so sorry for your loss. Your Dee Dee was indeed a beautiful person & when I see the lovely flowers from your garden, I will also think about her.
Be strong. I’m here for you if you need to talk🌿
Bless your kind heart, dear Tess. Thank you so very, very much. I believe that you would have loved her. She was a beautiful person, and she was everything to me. I’m glad you’ve made the association of the garden with Dee Dee, Tess. I built that garden just for her, and I’m glad that you’ll think of her whenever you see it. Thank you once again, Tess. I am grateful beyond words.
A beautiful piece, John. I am sure that everyone who reads this would like to have known her. She gave many gifts to the world, but she also was blessed . How many people can say that they have been loved by such an overwhelming and complete love, such as yours. May God rest her soul, and may you find comfort in your shared memories.
Thank you so much, Thea Becky. I appreciate your reading the piece, and I am grateful for your incredibly kind words. Dee Dee was a wonderful lady, and she was everything to me. Thank you once again, my dear Thea Becky. I can not put into words how much your kindness and compassion mean to me.
Thank you John for telling us about your beautiful Dee Dee, indeed a gift from God. How blessed you have been to share your life with her. You wrote that you hoped that your writing this would help others, and it did me. I’m thinking about time differently now. Thank you again for sharing your experiences with such an extraordinary beautiful woman, who continues to inspire us all.
Bless you, dear Jill. How incredibly kind of you. I’m so glad that you now know a bit more about Dee Dee. And I’m touched that this writing is helpful to you with regard to your own perception of time. You do me – and Dee Dee – great honor with your words. Thank you once again.