Hello.  I'll be the virtual "pastor", for Jana's memorial and obituary.  Jana passed away recently.  Her ashes are now in an urn, but her spirit is vibrantly alive in the hearts of her family, and perhaps in the hearts of her friends.  Let us continue, with an appreciation of Jana as a free spirit, and as a wife, mother, grandmother, sister, and friend.

Her sister, Marilyn, will share some memories of growing up with Jana in Colorado.  Karl, her husband, will share memories of their life together.  Her daughters, Michelle and Nicole, will share memories of their mother.  Her granddaughter, Evey, will speak of her "Nana."

Here's Marilyn:

Jana Kaye Miller was born to Thomas McKay Miller and Ila M. (Stout) Miller on August 31, 1946 in Fort Collins, CO, a small town just south of the Wyoming border. As the first grandchild in both families, this flame haired, strong willed girl with fire in her green eyes, enchanted all who met her. She was beautiful, charming and perhaps a bit spoiled.  I arrived quietly four years later. We lived near our doting grandparents until 1952 when Dad moved us to Denver to work for United Airlines as a mechanic. Dad also was  a private flight instructor and rebuilt old airplanes to resell. Jana inherited Dad's mechanical abilities and creative expression. Being chronically ill, Mom was an avid reader and instilled that love in me. Because of Mom's ill health we were often with our maternal grandmother, Grace the last of the Victorian grandmothers, to our everlasting gratitude. We also got to go with Dad to the one runway airports where he taught flying. Jana was my sometimes reluctant guardian angel who kept me engaged with imaginative stories and games and helped me chase rabbits around the hangars.

As we entered our teenage years Jana became my ideal of beauty and sophistication. She was popular in school and sang soprano in both school and church choirs. She was innately funny, wildly, wonderfully funny. I remember being rocked with laughter while doing chores and Dad loudly telling us to get our jobs done now!

Our family relocated to the Chicago area in 1965 for Dad's new job within United. It was initially a shock to be engulfed in such a huge, culturally diverse city. But Jana flourished and went to work and found so many friends. She explored Chicago and often included me in her expeditions.  Our sibling rivalries from childhood faded and we became good friends.

In time, we both married and had children. Unfortunately, we did not live near each other when our children were small. But when we were able to visit our parents' home together, it was clear to me that Jana was an extraordinary Mother. She was more than simply patient and  attentive. She had the rare ability to be her children's friend as well as their Mom.  She offered wise counsel to her precious daughters, to me and my own two children, as well.

Jana and I were fortunate to be able to visit one another often as we grew older. Our friendship deepened and we shared many lovely hours sharing the love of our families, fiber crafts, laughing, reminiscing, laughing and occasionally travelling.

I have been greatly blessed with Jana's physical presence until her dear heart was stilled.  But the light and love she shared with us will always live in my heart.  Thank you, Sis. I will see you on the other side of the stars.

Here's Karl

In the mid-1970's, Jana Miller and I were co-workers at United's headquarters in Chicago.  Jana had always lived somewhere west of Chicago, and I had always lived on the east coast. So, she told me stories of jackalopes in Colorado, and I told her how lobsters stomp on swimmers on the Jersey shore.  We had the same circle of acquaintances, but somehow Jana and I always preferred each other's company.  We became best friends.  Eventually, we recognized that we were kindred spirits, and got married.

I started working for United at O'Hare Airport, and working part-time as a flight instructor.  (Yup, like Jana's Dad back when.)  Jana  gave birth to Michelle Renee in 1977, and to Nicole Marie in 1979.  Jana and the girls bonded completely, and have remained so forever.  We lived in a little house in Carpentersville, IL, with diapers and tricycles and we were happy.

We moved to Long Island, NY, when I took a job managing a branch of a national flight training school.  For lack of suitable apartment rentals in the area, we  took a winter rental of an old mansion on the waterfront of Great South Bay.  (It was somebody's summer home.}  The house was haunted.  I do not believe in ghosts, but the house was haunted.   And cold.  We heated a few rooms in the core of the house, and huddled there while the freezing wind shrieked across the frozen bay and everything creaked.  Jana endured the winter, caring for our two preschool daughters most patiently and indeed stoically.   Come Spring, we rented a normal town house, but Jana never did warm up to that part of the east coast.  Neither did I.

We moved to California, where I became a full-time flight instructor and manager of an aeroclub at Livermore airport.  Jana worked with me, helping me manage the club,  all the while raising Michelle and Nicole, who were by then in school  Life centered around the airport.  Michelle and Nicole became full-blown "airport brats", just as their mom and aunt Marilyn had been a generation ago.  We lived close to Jana's parents, and we moved my aged parents to a house near ours when they needed full-time care.  I wound up working two jobs, so I wasn't home much.  Jana took charge of my parents' care.  And raised our girls.  And worked part-time.  She worked incessantly to care for our family. She did it all with grace and love.  And she even put up with me.

We eventually moved to Washington State, north of Seattle.  I flew for a regional airline, and Jana worked as a medical insurance analyst.  Our daughters graduated from high school.    I got hired by Boeing as a courseware developer and simulator instructor for the 777 and 787.  We all became confirmed denizens of the Pacific Northwest.

Whenever Jana had a creative impulse, she wanted to make it happen for real.   She made cuddly "bonnie  bears" for kids, greeting cards based  on angels, and a kind of comforter, which she called "chocolate dreams."   None of these made it to the mass market; most were gobbled up by friends and local folks.

When our girls were moving out on their own, Jana's restless brain found a new venture:  raising alpacas.  So we bought a small farm near Monroe, WA, and raised alpacas.  Jana and I also had full-time jobs.  Ah, the joys of scooping alpaca poop out of the snow after work…  Our kids helped when they could.   Nicole had worked for a veterinarian, and knew stuff.   Michelle was often the midwife for the newborn crias (baby alpacas.).

Eventually, we sold the alpacas, and moved to a small house in Shelter Bay, a community about halfway between Seattle and Bellingham, WA.  We retired from our jobs,  though I stayed on with Boeing as a contractor until 2014.

Michelle and Nicole got married, with new lives of their own. Empty nest for Jana and me. Through it all, Jana, Michelle, Nicole and I have been a close and loving family.   We still are.   And, for the last four years, we have our granddaughter, Evey, in the circle.

Jana,  the kid from Colorado, loved the ocean.   She and I scampered to the beach like baby sea turtles as often as we could.  I guess Jana behaved more like a chinchilla than a sea turtle; she loved to see the water, not to be in the water.  For both of us, the sea was important for us at a primal level.

My wife and lifelong best friend was beautiful, smart, articulate, creative, imaginative, loving and loyal.  She was also strong-willed, stubborn, and single-minded.  Thank goodness, because she often needed to be those things.  I think she taught me much more than I ever taught her.  And she mostly rescued me, rather than the other way around.  She was the hub of our family.  I loved her.  On our 44th wedding anniversary, not long before she passed away, I gave her a card captioned "To the woman I'd marry all over again."  And I would.

Here's Michelle:

I know that in this venue I should share with everyone tales of mom's adventures (and misadventures) because her life was rich and unpredictable - and her stories deserve to be shared! - but of the many creative gifts I have inherited from my mother, writing is not one of them.  Clever hands and sarcastic wit?  Yes.  Wordsmithing?  Not so much (that gift went to my sister).

How I wish I knew how to wax lyrical about her sparkling eyes and wicked smirk; her inquisitive mind and intuitive heart; her creativity and talent; her wisdom and patience.  But, alas, I cannot.  I don't know how to put in words all that she means to me, all that she's taught me, and how deeply I love her – but I know that she knew, and at this moment that's what's keeping me going.

For, you see, not only was my mother an amazing woman whom I admired greatly, she was my best friend .  Her love and friendship meant the world to me.  My heart overflows with her love and her voice is clear in my head.  Nothing that I've written (and deleted and re-written, rinse and repeat) has been vibrant or vivid enough to capture mom's spirit.  For that, we'll need to get together and swap mom-tales over a couple of drinks.  We'll need hugs, and laughter, and joy because only then can I tell her stories properly.

Here's Nicole:

To Mom: I won the mom lottery with you. You could read my heart just like a book and knew exactly what to say or do. (I mean, after you cooked my pet clam named Linda and turned me into a vegetarian.) Okay, you mostly knew what to say or do. And if you didn't, you admitted it. You admitted your faults and loved me for mine.

Mom and friend were synonymous to you and I am so grateful for that. That we knew each other so well through trust. You never got mad over the little stuff. You had such compassion for us as kids. You seemed to know we were trying, but that our brains just weren't finished cooking.

And how we played and laughed. We'd laugh until one of us got toady hiccups and then we'd laugh at the hiccups. We watched every movie ever made and stayed up late creating the most peculiar snacks. I seem to recall a marshmallow and chocolate concoction in the microwave once or twice.

You let us be ourselves completely and loved us completely. It's the truest love I've ever felt. It's a gift I aim to pass on to my tiny human because I know it's the one that matters most.

As a mom myself now, I appreciate the energy, creativity, and patience it takes to pull it all off. It takes tremendous perseverance and sometimes just faking it with a smile when you'd really rather lie down in the fetal position for a few days. How did you do it? And with so much style and grace?

I'm having a hard time writing this in the past tense. I wonder how to navigate the world without you. But, I know you're still with me. I feel you in my heart. And I hear your glorious wit and sarcasm in my head. There is so much to be grateful for. The warmth of your love and laughter lives on in all of us, especially that wild grand-daughter of yours. Thank you, thank you, thank you for being my Mama.

Love: Nicole

Here's Evey:

To Nana: I loved our "play-dates" the most! You always played with me so much and one of my favorite things was our marshmallow fight. Oh, and the Hamster Dance. You always let me do art and be myself. I'm really going to miss how you would knit my stuffies a sweater every time I asked. And you always found new toys that I liked a lot. I miss you so much. It's really hard on my mom. I always know you love me and you are in my heart forever. Love: Evey

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Jana and Karl have a niche in the columbarium at Pleasant Ridge Cemetery, 17604 Valentine Road, Mount Vernon, WA, for their ashes.  The niche number is C 14, or as Jana and Karl refer to it as "building C, apartment 14."

Please feel free to add your condolences, memories or comments to this website.