It feels like divine intervention that Frederika Brookfield and I ever became upstairs–downstairs neighbors.

At first glance, we couldn’t have seemed more different.

The first time I met her, she appeared in her pajamas, walking her dog Olive in slippers and a fluffy hat topped with a pom-pom larger than life itself. My immediate thought was: This is a woman profoundly comfortable in her own skin.

Still, I kept a friendly distance. Neighbor friendships can be tricky, and all I wanted was peace. So for a while, our exchanges stayed at polite hellos.

But life has a way of dissolving the walls we think we need.

Months later, I noticed Frederika had lost weight and complimented her—only to hear her say, matter-of-factly: “Cancer.”

In that moment, compassion replaced caution. I realized I didn’t want distance at all. I wanted to be there for her. And from that day on, our friendship bloomed.

We spent countless hours together—sometimes doing nothing more than “sitting and staring” in Adirondack chairs, watching life unfold around us from our front landing. She knew every neighbor by name, loved this community, and radiated color and presence wherever she went.

I was endlessly fascinated by her big, bold life—stories from Condé Nast, working with Ted Turner, “sort of, kind of” dating Jerry Seinfeld, her many glamorous New York and international adventures.

Surprisingly, she was equally fascinated by mine.

She’d listen wide-eyed as I talked about building a business from scratch and reinventing my life in San Diego. That was her magic: she celebrated not just her own courage, but everyone else’s too.

Frederika slipped into the role of upstairs sister effortlessly. At my book launch, she arrived with a lint brush, zipped up my dress, checked the back of my hair, and made sure I looked stage-ready. Sometimes we even called each other “roommates,” despite living in separate apartments.

She taught me how to pronounce designer names properly—and she didn’t just say them, she wore them. Whether in her signature orange or a deep forest green, paired with her striking red hair and freckles, Frederika stood out in any crowd.

Our friendship wasn’t perfect, nor was it meant to be. Olive’s nonstop barking occasionally revealed a… less-than-gracious side of me. We had our speedbumps, but those tiny bumps only made the relationship more real.

As her condition worsened, it became my privilege to drive her to medical appointments. We sat together in waiting rooms, stopped for smoothies at Parakeet Café, and sometimes she'd ask me to pray for her. On her last Christmas Eve, she came with me to church and—true to form—asked the pastor not to pray for her, but for others who might be struggling. That was the heart of Frederika: generous, outward-focused, endlessly compassionate.

We were two single women navigating modern dating together, trying the apps and discovering there weren’t “plenty of fish” (more often, just sardines.)

When I eventually fell in love, she asked, “Can he hurt you?”

I said yes.

“That’s the price of love,” I told her.

And when that relationship ended, she stationed herself firmly on Team Brenda, making sure I didn’t stay heart-sore for long.

In her final month, when in hospice, I spent most days by her side. Two moments from that time will stay with me forever.

One afternoon she woke from a nap, briefly lucid, and said: “I want to know God.”

We prayed together, and because of that moment, I am confident she is now at peace.

On another day, I asked her: “What’s the one lesson you want me to carry forward?”
Her answer: “Throw yourself into life.”

Throw yourself into life.

Don’t tiptoe. Don’t wait. Don’t hold back.

Live fully. Love deeply. Savor everything.

Those words are etched on my heart.

I loved Frederika. I miss her every day. She made me laugh, think, cry, and grow. Her gifts surround me still—her scarves, her books, her plants, and especially her lessons. When I see the color orange or open a Mary Oliver poem, she’s right there.

We were different in many ways. She preferred chamber concerts, I'd rather karaoke.

But we built a joyful, mutual admiration society. And her imprint on my life is forever.

There’s a quote that says: “In the end, we are all just walking each other home.”

What a privilege to walk Frederika home.

Thank you, my friend, for modeling a big, beautiful life.

And for reminding us all to throw ourselves into it.