Remembering A Friend- Jackie's Gift

There are some people who pass through our lives quietly, without fanfare, and yet leave footprints so deep they can never be washed away. Jackie was one of those rare souls.

At eighty-six, she had lived a life rich in wisdom, compassion, and generosity, and though she is gone now, I know there will never be a day I do not carry her kindness with me.

Jackie came into my life not simply as a fellow writer, but as something far greater—a steady hand in a storm, a voice of calm when the world became cruel. In the world of Indie publishing, where friendships can sometimes prove fragile under pressure, Jackie showed me what true loyalty looks like.

There was a season in my writing life when I became the target of a vicious troll attack. What began as one cruel voice grew into many, a pack mentality fueled by malice and cowardice. It was one of the hardest times I have ever endured as an author. The attacks were relentless, and the hurt cut deeper than I ever expected.

What wounded me most was not just the cruelty of strangers, but the silence of people I thought were friends. Many other authors turned away, afraid that standing beside me might bring the trolls upon themselves. I cannot entirely blame them—fear is powerful—but their absence left a loneliness I will never forget.

Jackie did not turn away.

She stood beside me when others stepped back.

She offered encouragement when I was battered and weary. She reminded me that cruelty only has power if we surrender to it. When I doubted myself, Jackie believed in me enough for both of us. Her courage was quiet, but unwavering. She never sought praise for it. That was simply who she was.

Jackie helped anyone who needed it. She had a heart that made room for everyone.

One of the greatest honors she ever gave me was entrusting me with something deeply personal: the outline and characters for a book she had long wanted to write herself. She placed them in my hands because she believed I could bring them to life.

I remember how humbled I felt when she gave me that gift. It was more than pages and notes—it was trust. It was faith. It was Jackie saying, in her own gentle way, I believe in your voice enough to place my dream in your care.

That is who Jackie was.

She gave freely.
She encouraged generously.
In a world where so many hold tightly to their talents, their ideas, and their affections, Jackie shared hers like sunlight—warmly, naturally, and without hesitation.

She was truly one of a kind.

The literary world may remember her for her writing, but I will remember her for something even greater: her heart.

And though she has now gone beyond the reach of this world, I imagine her still as she always was—gracious, wise, and quietly helping someone find their way.

Some people write stories.
Jackie was one.

For those who haven't read The Waking Bell...