Everybody on campus knew Jean Anne. I'm not exaggerating. You could have said "Jean Anne" or "Jammer" (as she came to be known later) to any of the 12,000 students and they would know who you meant.

She was involved in every activity and sport she could fit into her schedule. But she also made time for her friends. She was the planner, the organizer, the mother figure -- even though she was so tiny. She was only 5 feet tall, but her heart was bigger than anyone's. I think her goal in life was to make people happy. She accomplished that every day of her life.

But she also had a little secret that her friends didn't find out about until we'd known her for almost 2 years. One winter morning her roommates pounded on my dorm room door. They were crying and scared and all they could say was "There's something wrong with Jean Anne." My roommate and I ran down to their room and saw Jean Anne with her eyes glazed over and a strange look on her face (I can't describe it, but I'll never forget it.). She didn't seem to recognize any of us. She couldn't speak. My roommate called Jean Anne's sister (who lived across campus). That's when we learned Jean Anne was diabetic.

Later, Jean Anne told us she'd stayed up late studying the night before, overslept and didn't take her insulin. She also apologized for not telling us about her diabetes but she said she was looking at college as a way to get away from the way she'd been treated her entire life. She didn't want to be pampered, babied or treated any differently than anyone else. So, because that's what she wanted, we didn't talk about it again.

That is, until 8 years after we graduated. I'd been thinking about Jean Anne a lot that summer. A close childhood friend of mine (Steve) died that August from complications of diabetes. He was 30. I can't count the number of times I wanted to call Jean Anne, just to see how she was. But I was always too busy. (*sigh*) Then, when I didn't get a birthday card from her, I got worried and started feeling guilty. I knew something must be wrong. I called our friends Jeanne and Stephanie (Jeanne's birthday is the same day as mine; Stephanie's is 4 days earlier.) to see if they'd gotten cards from her. They hadn't, and were worried as well.

After some checking around, we found out Jean Anne was very ill and needed a kidney transplant or she would die. She was 30, too. She didn't tell any of us because she didn't want us to worry. She planned on telling us when it was all over and she was back to her old self. After a two-year wait, she had the operation.

Because of the operation, she couldn't make it to our 10-year college reunion. So, when the 15-year reunion rolled around she was rarin' to go. She insited that we all go. No excuses! We all went and had a great time. No one mentioned -- until much later -- that Jean Anne looked awful. But we could see it in each other's eyes. She was 37 years old, but looked about 50. She was so thin and frail looking. In fact, I didn't even recognize her the first time I saw her that weekend. I guess we didn't talk about it because, after seeing her, we knew why it was so important to her that we go to the reunion.

We didn't get Christmas cards from her that year. We had a feeling why. In March, we all got a letter from Jean Anne's sister. Her new kidney had failed and she was on dialysis. At that point, the doctors weren't sure if another transplant was the answer.

In August, we got another letter. Jean Anne passed away. She was 37. She didn't want any of us to know until after the funeral. She didn't want any of us to go because she wanted us all to remember the girl we all fell in love with in college, not the woman whose body was ravaged by disease.

I'll do that. But I'll also remember her and Steve as people who gave so much and were taken away way too early.