Please forgive this note from my personal life, something I have been mostly avoiding lately. This is not about me at all other than hearing some bad news. Bad news to me and many others. It has been on my mind a lot since my daughter Allie told me over dinner on Tuesday that Ann O'Connor died.

Ann was the best person you could ever want to meet. She was compassionate, caring, involved, selfless, and a thousand other things we all want to be. She lived her life according to the truest Christian ideals. This is a cliche but she always made you feel better about things. She didn't make a point to do so, that's just the way she was. Cliche -- all cliches are true -- she always made you feel better.

With our kids being in the same grades and her daughter Ellie and my daughter Emily being good friends for a long time I got to know her a little. One of the things I admired about her is she never complained. She never had an unhappy look on her face. It wasn't because she was a happy idiot. She was a very smart lady who could have done anything she wanted to. She chose to dedicate her life to her family, the parish, and the school. Beyond the priest himself, she was the rock of the parish. And all without ever being ambitious to be so. She was humble in the true sense.

Cancer got her. She was 55. She was diagnosed several years ago, underwent treatment, and was declared to be in remission. Two months ago it came roaring back. This time it was quick. (An eerily similar thing happened to my dad's second wife, Priscilla; be skeptical about those remission declarations).

Her funeral was last evening at St. Gertrude, an enormous Catholic church on the north side of Chicago. There are four rows of pews, extending probably 50 rows back. Almost all of them were filled, plus several dozen mourners standing in the back. By my estimate there were well over a thousand people there. There was one part of the service that was especially poignant, when the new priest ("the" priest being Father Bill Keneally, the living opposition to priest scandals) read something Ann had written. There were not many dry eyes to begin with and during this part of the service there were a lot of eyes being wiped. It was about how she felt when her own mother died. She wrote I still feel her with me even though I can't see her. To me that is the essence of what little I understand about the mystery of faith. I hope it works for Ryan, Ellie, and Gina, too.

Ann was not wealthy. She did not live in a big house or drive a big car. She didn't really care about any of that. But she cared about everyone in the true sense. And that's why 1000 people show up for your funeral.

Way too soon. She should have lived for another 20 or 30 years. "At least 100!" I can picture her happily saying.