Jane Goodall Prepared Us for a World Without Her

What made that moment so powerful for us was the healing it brought to the grief we were then carrying: Jane and I had both just lost our mothers, the pillars of our lives, mere months apart. Jane often tried to soften that blow by saying, “They’re on a cloud together somewhere, Henry; they’re floating along happily on a cloud, watching over us.” More rarely, and softly, she would add that “one day, we will be there with them.” As others close to us died, Jane would wish them to that cloud as well. When a close friend teased us about “creating an entire cloud contingent,” we happily embraced the term. It became our shared secret, invoked in need and toasted in triumph. And, of course, it became our ultimate destination.

Two years before she died, Jane spoke at Kings Theater in Brooklyn, after returning to touring following her pandemic hiatus. When she reached the lectern, she paused, sensing something. Then, at nearly 90 years old, she suddenly ran a full lap around the empty stage, with the glee of a girl. As her shawl billowed behind her, she seemed almost aflight. By the time she circled back, the entire audience was on its feet cheering. There was no talk of death that night; the moment begged for something completely different, and she sensed it and responded immediately.