Monday, April 27, 2009
Anne Marie Keaney
In college, I roomed with three other women. Ellen's my dear friend in San Francisco, the one who adopted the little boy from Russia. Our roommate Sumi committed suicide in 1988, during her third year of medical school. A few years before that, our fourth roommate, Anne, had been diagnosed with MS, which had claimed her aunt at a young age.
Anne became very withdrawn after her diagnosis; she lived with her mom, a nurse. I hadn't been in touch with her for years. Ellen and her son visited two years ago, during our twenty-fifth college reunion. (Anne lived in Princeton her entire life; her late dad was a professor there.) Anne was in very bad shape then, in a hospital bed.
This morning, lying in bed, I found myself wondering about her and decided to do a Google search. I found her obituary. She died December 20 of last year, the day after Gary's father died. I'd had no idea.
I called Ellen, who was much closer to Anne than I was, but who'd also had no idea. She'd been thinking about Anne and had been talking about her with someone just the other day.
Anne was a bright, vibrant, passionate person, bubbly and fun. She loved disco and old movies and classics, the field her dad taught, which was also her major.
Rest in peace, Anne. I hope you're dancing and enjoying Humphrey Bogart movies wherever you are now.