Soul Mates

PALMDALE — This is about love.

Perfect love. The kind of devotion that reaches beyond time, beyond death. The kind of eternal bond we dream of, set in a utopia where lovers never die.

Yet as the seasons promptly remind us each year, everything must change. Death is as universal as sunlight. Of the more than 2.3 million Americans whose lives ended in 1996, at least 1.6 million died of strokes, suicides, accidents and heart disease, according to government statistics.

Sudden death happens all the time, even to lovers.

Consider 42-year-old Jane Lawhorn, whose husband, Vernon Lawhorn, died early on the morning of Aug. 23, 1996, of a heart attack. He and Jane had just returned from jogging when he collapsed on their front porch. It was she who called the ambulance and, along with a neighbor, tried in vain to resuscitate her 48-year-old husband.

Now, 15 months later, after planting a weeping willow at the spot where he died, Jane still wonders if the constant memories of their life together will ever stop replaying over and over in her head.

She still speaks of him in the present tense.

“He is my very best friend,” she says, sitting in the immaculate home they shared in the Antelope Valley. “More than my husband really, he is my best buddy. My soul mate.”

Jane’s life and career are still deeply connected to her Vernon. A few times a month, she packs up their van and heads to art shows all over Los Angeles and throughout the country.

Vernon was a talented and well-known African American artist who left behind dozens of pieces of artwork inspired by his African heritage. Some sell for as much as $10,000.

“Vernon was just getting ready to make some inroads into the contemporary artist’s market,” says his friend, Moreno Valley artist Charles Bibbs. “That’s why this was so tragic. There are a lot of artists who know about him. He set some trends and attitudes among his peers that will be around for a long time.”

When Vernon was alive, he and Jane labored side by side. During the day, he worked at Sylmar Juvenile Hall as an art teacher and taught art classes at Antelope Valley Parks and Recreation centers. At home, Vernon brought the sparkling blues, greens, reds and yellows of smiling children and nature to life on canvas.

Jane handled the framing, booked art shows and managed the business affairs.

Their paths first crossed in a place where bad pickup lines and one-night stands are far more frequent occurrences than meeting your soul mate.

“We met at a disco on Oct. 23, 1980,” Jane says as if it was yesterday. The memory is a fond one for her--she blushes and grins as she talks.

“We met at a ladies night. Vernon nearly missed it. He fell asleep on the sofa right before. So we almost didn’t meet. He sent a friend over to talk to me. And I thought ‘if you are anything like your friend, then no thank you buddy.’

“But then all of a sudden, the waves parted and Vernon came towards me in this light gray wool suit. And it was like whoa!”

Love at first sight? Well, sort of. They did the long distance romance thing for five years before she left her parents’ home in Pinget, England, 370 miles west of London. Her father was unhappy with his only daughter, a horse trainer by trade, marrying a black man, she says, and although they are close now, he refused to speak to her for four years.

Ironically, Vernon’s last finished piece--a portrait of the head of a zebra called “Africa Moves in Black and White”--was the result of the only request Jane ever made that he paint something for her.

The title refers to the zebra and what’s going on within the zebra’s head. There are hands, a man praying and a pregnant woman among the 26 images and symbols hidden in the zebra’s black and white stripes. Artists do these intricate things.

“In his artwork, he is alive in this house,” says Jane, gazing at the dozens of his paintings in their home. “He’s very much here. It’s almost like wearing his shirt. I am caressed by him because this is what we had together.”

“That is why I keep everything the same as how we had it together. Because if he was to walk back through that door at any given time, it would be exactly the same.”

The emotional toll of death is hard enough to deal with. What then to do with all the physical remnants--the clothes, cars and belongings? At what point does a widow or widower begin removing the pictures from the wall? Think of dating someone else?

When Vernon died, all of Jane’s plans for the future blew away. How do you move on from that?

“I lead a very lonely life,” Jane says. “Unless I am out doing shows, it’s just Jane, the four walls and the artwork. But I realize that at age 41, I am in the prime of my life. I have a lot to offer somebody, but I am just so loyal to Vernon.”

At some point, it will indeed be time to move on. Perhaps it’s taking down one picture at a time. Experts say friends and family can help ease the transition with invitations to social gatherings or simply by providing an ear to listen.

“She may have the need to talk more and more about him,” says clinical psychologist Sharon Jacques, who frequently does grief counseling for the Victim’s Witness Program in the district attorney’s office.

“It can be uncomfortable for friends. They can’t fix it, so a lot of times friends mean well but they don’t know what to do.”

The grieving process has no definitive timeline. Jacques says friends should allow enough time, in some cases a few years, for the survivor to deal with the death on his or her own terms.

Jane will continue traveling across the country in a van loaded with the artwork her husband cherished.

“I should serve as an inspiration to a lot of other widows,” she says. “If I were just to hide behind the drapes and not go forward and let everything come to a grinding halt, that would be no way to honor the 26 years that he had invested as a professional artist. This is the way to keep him alive.”

“We have always been so very, very close. Marriage vows are ‘till death do us part.’ But our love goes beyond the grave.”

She stopped and broke into tears.