By Dr. JanMa – Janet Gentleman-Ingersoll, PhD
There are friends. And then there are the ones who quietly shape who you become.
Karen was that friend for me.
We shared 54 years of life together. That alone feels like a miracle. But what made Karen extraordinary was not just that she stayed. It was how she showed up.
She had this remarkable way of helping me become a better version of myself. Not with judgment. Not with lectures. But with kindness, wisdom, and just the right words at just the right moment.
I can still see myself all those years ago, working in the hospital. Day in and day out, I witnessed everything that could go wrong in a human body. It got into my head. I became consumed with fear. What if this happened? What if that happened? My thoughts spiraled.
Karen saw it before I did.
And instead of dismissing me or telling me to stop worrying, she introduced me to Silva Mind Control. Silva taught me a new way to think. A new way to manage my mind. A new way to live.
That was Karen. She did not just comfort you. She equipped you.
Then there was the day I was overwhelmed with despair over my teenage daughter’s pregnancy. I was stuck in worry, fear, and all the things I imagined she would lose or miss out on.
Karen listened.
And then, with that little sparkle she always had, she gently said:
“Weren’t we the lucky ones. We didn’t get caught.”
I remember pausing. Then laughing. And in that moment, everything shifted. What felt heavy became human. What felt like failure became perspective. She did not minimize my feelings. She reframed them in a way that gave me room to breathe again.
And oh, the IRS story.
I was upset. Angry. Spiraling again, if I am honest. A large tax bill will do that to a person. I was focused on what I had to give and give up.
Karen helped me see what I was receiving.
She reminded me that I value good roads. I value police, firefighters, and ambulances. I value living in a place where people help one another. She gently turned my frustration into gratitude.
That was her gift.
Not just seeing things differently. But helping you see differently.
And then there was her joy.
I love her sense of humor. Her ability to have fun. We had so much fun together. Whether we were playing cards, riding an hour and a half, one way, to see my family, sunning, or working, it was always the kind of fun that does not need a special occasion. The kind that turns ordinary moments into memories you treasure for a lifetime.
She brought light with her wherever she went.
And now, here I am.
On this side of life without her.
That feels strange to even write.
Because for 54 years, she has been woven into the fabric of my days. Into my thinking. Into the way I process life itself.
So what comes next?
That is the question I find myself sitting with.
And the answer, I believe, is this.
Karen may not be here physically. But the way she shaped me is.
Her voice still shows up when I start to spiral.
Her wisdom still interrupts my fear.
Her humor still finds me when things feel too serious.
And maybe that is what it means to truly love someone over a lifetime.
They do not leave you.
They become part of you.
So I will do my best to carry her forward.
In the way I think.
In the way I love.
In the way I choose joy, even when life feels heavy.
And she will not live on through me alone.
She lives on in Jerry.
In Jeremy, B., and Wesley.
In her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
In every person whose life she touched.
That is the beautiful truth.
A life well lived does not end.
It multiplies.
And maybe, just maybe, that is our invitation.
To take the very best of those we have loved and live it out, on purpose.
To become more thoughtful.
More grateful.
More joyful.
More alive.
That is what I call a Golden Nugget.
A small moment of truth that changes how we live.
So today, in honor of Karen, I invite you to do one simple thing.
Pause.
Think of someone who has shaped your life.
And ask yourself:
“What did they teach me that I can live forward, starting today?”
Then go live it.
Share it.
Pass it on.
Because that is how love continues.
That is how legacy grows.
That is how we make our golden years truly golden.
And if Karen were here right now, I can almost hear her say:
“Don’t forget to enjoy the ride.”
And oh. What a ride it has been.
Rest well, Karen Kay Riddles.
Born Karen Kay Sloan.
May 14, 1955 — April 12, 2026.
You did not just live a good life. You multiplied one.
