Janna L Thompson

Janna was married to my father, Jimmie Thompson, and what I remember as a nine year old girl when she died, was that they were happy. My definition of love derived from their marriage: deep, mad, love. She was a mother to me, and always will be remembered as that. On Christmas, my father and Janna would take three green ties (the ones you use to tie bags of vegetables at the grocery store) of three different sizes. My brother and sister and I would pick one and whoever got the longest would get to pick which cookies we'd make first. Then the next longest, to shortest. To me, it was never about blood or how nice she was to us. All I remember was she made me feel loved, as any mother would to their child. I don't remember much, but I remember Janna. It's always the small things she did that made every single one of us feel loved and complete, and she was the one who made my father the happiest. I'll never accept why God chose to take away a piece of my heart, but I know she's okay as long as I see the sun. I feel her when the sun is on me. And behind the clouds and rain, she's still there behind them. Memaw and Pepaw is what my siblings and I called Janna's parents; they loved us too. And I'd like to think they still think of us as a part of her. Janna was who defined my view of life, what made me believe in love, and the cause of who I am today: the best I can be. "One Day at a Time" We love you, forever and always.