Robin challenged us to post about a person who meant a great deal to us, so here’s one of mine. My college roommate was a gorgeous girl named Diane Lohmeier. She literally made my freshman year at the University of Nebraska.
Since I still felt like the ugly duckling stage when I first came to college, I was in awe of her beauty and style. Tall and thin, she had copper-penny red hair in a sleek page-boy. She lined her brown eyes with dark eyeliner. She always wore skirts, matching sweaters, and penny loafers which she polished religiously every night. She turned heads, and I felt proud just to be seen with her.
Besides being a beauty, she was a great person. She came from an Air Force family and had been everywhere. We had fun together, laughing over the agonizing sorority my mother made me join. She invited me home for weekends at her house in Bellevue. She took me to my first opera.
Diane had a great sense of humor; she was also very deep. She kept a poetic diary, and went to pottery classes where she designed a white vase with raised white trees (she loved nature and trees). It was shaped like the one pictured here.
Over Easter vacation of our freshman year, Diane was riding on the back of a boyfriend’s motorcycle. They were going very slowly, a block away from her house, when a cable broke, got trapped under the wheel, stopped the bike, and sent them both sprawling. He walked away, but Diane hit her head on the pavement and never regained consciousness.
I spent the week following the funeral, typing up her entire diary so I could keep a copy before I gave it to her parents. I have it still.
Over the years, I’ve often thought what Diane would be doing at this stage of our lives. Living to the hilt and having people love her, I’m sure. We would still be best friends. I try to live the good life that she never got to finish.