Ladies and Gentlemen, colleagues, clients and friends, welcome!
My name is Peter Fornelli. I have been part of the rehab team here at G.F. since 2010. Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to voice to our collective memories of our beautiful friend Diana.
Her full name was Diana Mah Jones. Some of us called her Diana. Some of us called her DMJ for short.
She was a colleague, a friend, a trusted confidant. It was her shoulder that we sought on the hard days. We did so because we always knew we would be heard; we would be seen; we would be understood. She made those days just a little more bearable, a little more manageable; she made them make just a little more sense.
She had a wonderful smile. That intoxicating flash of warmth. It was bright, it crinkled the corners of her eyes, and it shone right through you. She gave it freely and often to those that knew her well, and to those that barely knew her at all.
She exuded a quiet, caring strength. When she listened to an upset colleague rant about a recent encounter – she was present and available and she just stood and listened without saying a word. And when her colleague had finished, Diana simply said “Maybe he was having a bad day.” And there it was again; her forgiveness; her kindness; her humanity, that made you feel as though, perhaps, it was you who wasn’t being compassionate enough; merciful enough.
A colleague relished the opportunity to have her child meet Diana; to have him be in her presence; to experience her touch; hear her voice; see her smile. Even though he was small, just a baby really, much too young to understand the lesson his mom was teaching: this person cares, we care about this person; can you feel it son? one day I hope you will, one day I hope you remember.
Diana was active, really active. For 40 years she rode her bike to work. Pedaling with perfect posture, hair jutting out of her helmet, waving to her colleagues that she passed along the way.
She also danced. Not the samba nor the tango, not the waltz nor the cha-cha nor the square dance. Although, undoubtedly, she could have done them all, and would have been extraordinary. No, Dianna tap danced. She danced with a group called Razzamataps. She and colleagues from G.F danced in many shows and competed in many competitions. After every contest Diana would exclaim, “Maybe now we can get on Ellen DeGeneres”
Although we didn’t get to see her dance on Ellen, we will miss the dancing; watching her dance; knowing that she danced.
We will also miss her knowledge and patience and support; the way she helped us see all the pieces of a clinical puzzle, her steady hand guiding us to a solution; her unwavering support; her unspoken and unmitigated belief that we would be able to figure it out.
Whether it meant being an audience of one in a room that sat a hundreds in order to help a colleague prepare for speech, or being relentlessly and unapologetically patient centered by asking for a 3-week extension after agreement on a discharge date had already been achieved; or, what so often happened, transforming her professional relationships from therapist/client to true friends who could laugh and cry and share joys and frustrations; this was how Diana rolled – straight, authentic, and true, every day that she was here, and everyday when she wasn’t.
And the thing about Diana was that no matter how long you knew her; no matter how many ideas on clinical treatments you exchanged; no matter how many laughs you shared or tears you shed together; no matter how many dance competitions you competed in; there was always one more page to discover; always one more mystery to be unearthed; always one more curiosity not yet explored. For example: How many of you knew that she was an aficianado of single malt scotch?
Precise, exacting, gorgeously unyielding, may perhaps be some adjectives one thinks of when one contemplates the memories of our optimistic, ingenious, kind-hearted friend. One small example is the way she used to kneel on the hard floor, line up her SCI team against the wall of the square room, and perform a spontaneous spot check to ensure that the distance between the hem of the shorts and the top of the knee, did not exceed 2 inches.
Although our beautiful friend is gone; and our hallways seem just a little less luminous; the guidance we receive on the hard days just a little less sage; and our holly jolly Christmas just a little less spirited; we know that for years to come, through G.F’s front door, will enter patients and staff and family members.
And when they do – we will tell them tales of our beautiful friend Diana. The ones we told to each other this afternoon; the ones we have told to only a select few; and the ones we didn’t even know we had in us to tell.
Dianna Mah Jones…Diana…DMJ.
Today, we honor your legacy.
Today, we pay homage to the way you lit up our world.
Your flags are flying high atop Kilamangaro – bright and pink in the sun; dancing on the wind.
We hope you hear our words.
We hope they reach you – wherever you are.
We hope they make you smile.
This year, when we light the large pine, it is you we will think of.
It is you, we will miss.
It is you, we will love.
Goodbye, dear friend.
John's Writing 