She has Facebook, FaceTime, the telephone and “air hugs,” but has only been able to see close family in person over the last month. A former Realtor and banker for decades, it has certainly been a change of social pace.

After discontinuing chemotherapy a month ago, and with limited options for treatment, Weins said that she has been lucky to come this far, two and a half years since doctors said she had just two years left.

After friend Molly Johnson saw her in the cancer center, Johnson said she knew something had to be done. They’ve known each other 27 years.

“What can I do?” Johnson asked herself after learning that Weins had a matter of months or weeks left. “In this time of COVID-19, we can’t go visit each other easily.”

-Messenger photo by Elijah Decious
About 20 cars showed up Thursday morning to let friend Ramona Weins know they care in a socially distanced way during her battle with pancreatic cancer.

Naturally, a parade was the solution.

Weins thought it’d be about two cars on a sunny Thursday afternoon, perched on her porch with bright, fresh flowers beaming as radiantly as her smile. That was, until 20 cars lined up around the corner.

With some text messages Wednesday night, Johnson managed to organize all sorts of friends in the real estate and banking world Weins knew so well, leading them to deliver an outpouring of love, kindness and perhaps what was the best substitution for a tangible embrace in a world where it was suddenly not allowed.

Though the response overwhelmed Weins, it didn’t surprise Johnson after the way her friend touched the community for so many years.

“She was my favorite loan officer at First American Bank,” said Johnson, a Realtor. “I sent all my customers to her.”

-Messenger photo by Elijah Decious
About 20 cars showed up Thursday morning to let friend Ramona Weins know they care in a socially distanced way during her battle with pancreatic cancer.

But the working relationship developed into a more personal friendship. This week marked 13 years since they both quit smoking together. After Johnson’s breast cancer diagnosis in January, they stayed in closer touch to check on each other.

Always with a positive attitude, Johnson said Weins was usually as bright as the flowers she loved–like the dinner plate-sized Hibiscus she once received from her.

Everyone decided to return the favor, having drive-by conversations with Weins that, even in their brevity, managed to deliver a spot as bright as the sun that day.

The people honking behind any given car visiting with Weins that morning did so out of excitement, not road rage.

In a way, it was ironic to the lady who never made a fuss over herself, not even wanting to be the person waving from the back seat of a convertible as a chamber president during parades of years gone by.

“There are so many deserving people in this town,” she said, “I think somebody else should be the one to be honored.”

“In a town this small, everybody’s got to help each other,” said her daughter, Rhonda Weins.

In a global pandemic, it was one small way they knew they could help.