Jane Andrews Kirkpatrick's Obituary
The poet says: “A life well lived is a precious gift/of hope and strength and grace/from someone who has made our world a brighter, better place.”
That line was never truer than when describing the life of Jane Kirkpatrick.
Jane Andrews Kirkpatrick died Jan. 11, 2026, in Plano, Texas, at the age of 98. Without a doubt, the impact she had on her family and friends resounds with the joy that she was a precious gift, and that she definitely made our world a brighter, better place.
Born July 22, 1927, in Oklahoma City, to parents Wayne and Adaline Andrews, Jane experienced an interesting and resilient upbringing. Her mother spent much of Jane’s early childhood in a tuberculosis ward. As a result, Jane was raised by her father, whom she adored. Alas, Wayne died when Jane was 12, leaving her heartbroken. Fortunately, she was reunited with her mother and formed a deep and lasting bond. They traveled extensively through Europe and shared many wonderful adventures. Jane’s early years taught her empathy, strength, and an appreciation for every person’s story — qualities that shaped her whole life.
After high school, Jane enrolled at the University of Texas, where she cultivated a love of learning and was a member of the Alpha Delta Pi sorority. She earned a Bachelor's degree in Latin and Greek and a Masters degree in Library Science.
Following her days at UT, Jane returned to Oklahoma City. It was there that she met the person who changed her life forever. On a blind date, Jane met John Edward Kirkpatrick, who literally swept her off her feet dancing. They were, unquestionably, soulmates. Married March 7, 1953, they built a beautiful life together — nearly half a century of a loving partnership full of adventure, family, and humor.
In 1954, they moved to Dallas, where they had three children: Jeb, Jan, and Jay. Jane went on to become a beloved school librarian, sharing her joy of reading with generations of students until her retirement. It is fair to say that Jane was always the smartest person in any room, though she had a way of making everyone around her feel equally bright and comfortable. Whether she was adding ice cream to morning oatmeal or beating you handily in a card game, she always made you feel special.
Though Jane and her family spent many fun years camping and exploring the outdoors, she was less of a wilderness owl and more of a bookworm. So, it was with a great deal of surprise (and no small amount of disappointment) when John, being the thoughtful husband he was, gifted her on her birthday with a canoe. To her credit, Jane returned the favor on John’s birthday when she bought him a sewing machine. Gotta love the sass there.
In addition to her job as school librarian, Jane also volunteered at the Dallas Park & Recreation Department, teaching bridge, and at Town North YMCA, where she and John performed with the Kickers dance group. When no longer able to dance due to knee ailments, Jane continued to attend rehearsals because only she could remember the steps. Jane had a remarkably sharp mind. She belonged to several book clubs, and until only a short time before her death, she typically read eight books a week.
After retirement, Jane and John hit the road, traveling to 49 states (missing only North Dakota) and collecting stamps as souvenirs of their adventures. They also traveled around the world, cruising with family and friends, and teaching courses at Elderhostels, all the while creating lasting memories and great friendships. And, of course, they danced. When Jan was enrolled at Texas A&M University, they would visit and dance at the Sports Club, earning free drinks for their on-floor performances. In retirement, they joined the Elks Lodge in Dallas simply because there was dancing, specifically ballroom dancing. Jane often commented on how well her husband could dance and how much she enjoyed being in his arms.
When John passed, Jane didn’t slow down. She filled her days with family gatherings and laughter. She cherished her tea-time outings with the Red Hat Club, often joined by Jan and granddaughter Kelsey. After some gentle persuasion, Jane sold the family home in North Dallas and moved in with Kelsey, where she met another great love, Luna the dog. The two were inseparable — Oma, as her grandkids called her, with her ever-present crumbs and Luna faithfully cleaning up right behind her. Jane was always happy when Luna came to lie on her lap.
Jane traveled to England many times and to Australia with Jan when she was working for Cadbury Schweppes in Birmingham, England. She loved visiting chocolate factories and was in the habit of eating some form of chocolate every day. Let us note that Jane lived for 98 years and was mentally sharp until the end, so there’s probably a lesson there somewhere. She played multiple different solitaire games daily, dutifully tracked her stocks and investments, and loved Penny Dell puzzle books. She also delighted in her weekly cribbage games with Jay; matches that were as fierce and competitive as they were enjoyable. Smart as she was, however, the internet, streaming, and TV remotes left her frequently reaching out to her grandkids for technical support.
When her children were young, they participated regularly in activities at a nearby recreation center. One activity saw them craft ceramic owls, which Jane dutifully displayed. When folks came to visit, they noticed the owls and naturally assumed that Jane was in the habit of collecting them. As a result, it became common for friends to bring her owls. Jane liked owls, so she didn’t discourage the practice. It wasn’t long before owls piled up around the house. There were owls on the fireplace mantle, on the shelves, on the walls, bedspreads, towels, curtains, and even on the toilet seats. Big owls, small owls, tiny owls, custom-drawn owls, inexpensive owls, and some hooters that cost a pretty penny. There were owls from all over the world, and they were all proudly displayed. Largely by default, Jane had become the Owl Lady, a role she embraced for the rest of her life.
Oma was the grandmother who slipped goldfish crackers and marshmallows to the great-grandkids when their parents weren’t looking. She was the ace who could win any game she played and who could spin a compelling yarn. She faced life’s hardships with courage, humor, and perhaps a wee bit of stubbornness. Even though she could be a tad curmudgeonly in her last years, owing to declining health and limited mobility, her heart was pure and her love endless.
Again, the poet says of life: “It’s filled with moments, sweet and sad/with smiles and sometimes tears/with friendships formed and good times shared/and laughter through the years.”
Jane lived an extraordinary life surrounded by family, laughter, books, and love. She truly was the best of us — exceptionally wise, wonderfully witty, deeply loving, fiercely loyal, and full of life. Though she will be missed beyond words, we will carry her spirit, her laughter, and her stories with us forever.
Ultimately, the poet reminds us: “A life well lived is a legacy/of joy and pride and pleasure/a living, lasting memory/our grateful hearts will treasure.”
Jane is survived by her son Jeb of Oklahoma City; her daughter Jan K. Vernon and husband Robert of Richardson; son Jay and wife Kellie, of Coppell; granddaughter Leigh V. Carruth and husband Andrew Carruth, of College Station, as well as great-grandchildren Rorey, John, Noah, and Anne Carruth; grandson Zachary Vernon and husband, Robby Cook, of Los Angeles; granddaughter Kelsey V. Smith and husband, Matt Smith, of Richardson; as well as great-grandchildren Oliver, Zora, and Adeline Smith; and granddaughter Katie Ann Kirkpatrick, of Coppell. Jane was preceded in death by her husband John Edward Kirkpatrick, and her infant grandchildren John Andrew Vernon, Justin Kirkpatrick Vernon, and Leesa Jane Vernon.
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