Joan Forstner

My thoughts and prayers to the family on the loss of Joan. She was a beautiful person inside and out. What a special angel you have all been blessed with. God Bless, Sarah Seminary Sieh

Oh Joanie Beth Marie( yes I called her that)! I am so sorry you left this earth- but can only imagine all the laughter and joy you are enjoying in heaven! We had so much fun at your clinic visits! You and Ted-Bob always made my day. She has now wrapped her arms around you all and is holding you close. My sincere sympathy to you Bob and your family.

My Grandmother was someone who would light up a room with her presence. I miss her and love her greatly.

For those who were unable to watch the service, here is the eulogy:

You have no idea how much Mom talked about this funeral. Or how much havoc she will wreak if we don’t sing “City of God” as our closing song.

As I look out at you, I see a packed house. In spaces that may look empty to you, I see friends and family who departed before her.

First, and most important, my dad loved my mom.

And my mom loved my dad.

If you know Joan and Bob, you know there were clear character differences between the them—and you may know those differences helped animate their conversation–but these differences also contributed to their power as a couple. They complemented each other. In a card to my mom, my dad once wrote that she knew his weaknesses and compensated for them–and she knew his strengths and took pride in them. He did the same for her.

Bobo and Jojo. Jojo and Bobo.

Every time I called Mom during her months living at Bethany transitional care, she would right away ask me: “Have you talked to your dad? How is he doing?” And when I would call my dad, it was “Have you talked to your mom? How is she doing?” This, despite the fact they spoke to each other multiple times each day.

So, when my phone rang at 2:30 AM Wednesday–Jackie telling me I should bring Dad over to Bethany–Mom was having trouble breathing—Dad was already awake and ready. Just like Mom would have been for him.

On the drive over, we turned left onto the 10th Street one-way and passed our old house. Time has not stood still for 1022. The vibrant green hedge has been pulled out of the ground. The signature green stucco has been changed to a more muted tone. The Springer Spaniel kennels have been replaced by a playground set. As we drove by, we could see, in the early morning darkness, that there was a light left on: the dining room, of all places. The place where it all happened. The place where Mom made it happen. The place where our house became a home.

There will always be regrets. I wish I had done this differently. If only I had made more phone calls. Or visited more often. But I will be forever grateful for the gift of Tuesday morning.
After a day in which she had been non-responsive, Mom’s eyes suddenly opened. Right in front of her, she could see many of the people who loved her. And she looked . . . oh so grateful. The person who had always been there for us—and now we were there for her. As you know, Mom was a woman of many words, and since she no longer was able to use many, she chose them carefully. “I love you,” she said more than once to people lucky enough to feel the direct warmth of her eyes. At her most vulnerable, at our most terrified, that is what remained. The greatest of these. Love.

For the next two hours, she tracked our conversations while warmly responding to the Bethany workers who stopped by to show their appreciation. We could tell she loved our laughter and stories, the room’s warm atmosphere. Enjoying the fruits of her life’s labors.

We moved into 1022 on the first day of 1974. Sarah joined us the following month. No one knew it at the time, but the country was entering the final months of Watergate, the scandal that brought down a president. There might be a few of you out there who remember Alexander Butterfield, the Watergate hearings reluctant witness who revealed he had installed a secret taping system inside the Oval Office.

How I wish he had installed a second taping system–in our dining room. Oh, the sounds it would have recorded. The reports of how our days went. The discussions and even disagreements. The banter. Yes, the banter. The laughter. Mom’s laughter.
And . . .what is that? One particular pair of feet scurrying back and forth from the kitchen. The voice connected to those feet, pushing people to accept a second helping, and then a third. Physical nourishment, yes, but also think of the love behind it.

Mom’s final moments had a soundtrack. As a loving send-off, some of us managed to sing a few lines from one of her favorites. And he will raise you up/on Eagle’s Wings–bear you on/the breath of dawn/make you to shine like the sun/and hold you in the palm of His hand. A relationship that started on a downtown Fargo street corner in 1955, a love that expanded to include children and grandchildren and countless friends, now found itself one mile from its origin corner. Joan’s hand tightly gripped the hand of her adoring husband Bob. He kissed her.

Her spirit didn’t leave us. That spirit is right here.

Mom, you did so well. You worked so hard. It’s time to let go of all that pain, the silent, and not-so-silent, suffering. I am eternally grateful you were the one–the person at the very center of our lives. That is where you will remain.