Memorial to Anne Knickerbocker (May 17, 1944 to January, 1991)

Today marks the birthday of my dearly departed sister-in-law and spectacular friend, Anne Knickerbocker. Twenty-three years ago she left this planet at the age of forty-seven. Her death was second in a string of six deaths I would experience that year. Five of the deaths, beginning with hers, were within a six week period. Of all those deaths that year, I felt hers most acutely. Hers was a sudden, shocking loss occurred only a week after spending New Years in Idaho with me. For more than a year the grief was so unbearable, I couldn't imagine how I was going to move forward in life without her.

Anne Knickerbocker was someone you would easily pass on a street or grocery store and not think twice about her. She never called attention to herself, even though she graduated magna cum laude, spoke fluent Russian, was a prolific artist, and was one of the most comedic conversationalists I have ever met. In her own ordinary way she was quite extraordinary. In spite of her intellect and verbosity, she was chronically anxious and depressed. So much so, she was too afraid to drive a car. Underneath this, she was brilliant. Weighing less than a hundred pounds dripping wet, she had a ferocity in her petite stature that was spellbinding. Being with her, I could always see immense scholarly potential in her held back by unmitigated fear. She labored under the never being enough syndrome: not smart enough, not courageous enough, not pretty enough, not being extroverted enough, never financially secure enough, just plain not good enough. Though I never felt I measured up to all of her phenomenal talents, she held me in high esteem.

I only knew her for seven precious years before her death. In those seven years I became so bonded to her that she became closer to me than my own sisters. We discussed everything, took trips together, wrote frequently to one another, made fun of the Catholic Church, and laughed endlessly. She was best part of my marriage to her brother. When my union to her brother dissolved, she wanted to me to get her as part of the divorce settlement. Our last conversation that fateful last New Year's day before she returned to Minneapolis was disheartening. We talked about our future sans her brother. I knew she was anticipating the divorce meant she would lose me as well. My reassurances did not ease her worries. Within seven days after this conversation she was found dead in her apartment of an accidental insulin overdose. I believe she died of a broken heart.

Twenty-three years later, I still grieve her loss and miss her terribly. Anne was a cosmic gift-she taught me about great conversation, intellectual diversity, batiks, art, wildflowers, and the importance of wit. I am so fortunate to have had her presence in my life. She believed in me more than I have ever believed in myself. How do I continually honor her memory? By dedicating myself to being the success she was unable to achieve in this life for herself. Thank you, Anne. Happy Birthday.