Remembrances
I am Alissa, Ann’s daughter, and there are no words that feel big enough to hold who my mother was to me, though she would probably insist that the right words are always there if you look closely enough.
My mother was the most generous person I have ever known. Generous not only in what she gave, but in how she gave, fully and thoughtfully, without keeping score. She opened our home to everyone in my life growing up. Friends were never just friends; they were fed, listened to, encouraged, and folded into the fabric of our family. She had a way of making people feel chosen.
She was creative and brilliant and endlessly curious. Words were her element. She did not just write. She shaped language into something alive. There was poetry in the way she spoke, in the cards she sent, in the way she could take an ordinary moment and give it weight and meaning. I grew up watching her build a life out of ideas, courage, and hard work. She worked relentlessly, often quietly, to make sure I never felt limited in what I could try or become. I know now how much effort that took. At the time, she made it feel effortless.
With me, she was both mother and safe harbor. I could tell her anything, truly anything. There was no version of myself I had to hide from her. If I was lost, she helped me think. If I was hurt, she steadied me. If I dreamed something big, she treated it as possible. She showed up, not sometimes and not when it was convenient, but always.
And she was funny, so funny. We could dissolve into laughter together over the smallest things, laughing so hard we cried. Those moments, bent over and breathless, wiping tears from our faces, are stitched into me. They are some of my most sacred memories.
She was strong-willed, principled, and deeply compassionate. She cared about the world and about people in a way that was active, not passive. She believed in showing up for her family, for her students, and for strangers who needed encouragement. That belief shaped my entire understanding of what it means to live a good life.
Losing her feels impossible. But loving her was the greatest gift of my life. Everything I am, my voice, my resilience, my capacity for love, carries her imprint.
I will spend the rest of my life grateful that I was hers. I love you Mom.
--Alissa
Annie was not only my aunt- but also my first employer after I graduated from college. My role at Redpath Press was to help with PR to spread the word about the beautiful stories we were publishing under the Perfect Presents brand. Ann was a wonderful role model - demonstrating courage, dedication, passion - always with kindness, generosity and humor. I learned so much and cherish that time in my life as a true gift. I will miss that blue-eyed smile, that laugh. Rest in peace dear Annie.
--Kate
A lively understandable Spirit once entertained you
It will come again
Be still
Wait
--Jan Rossow Brautigam shares a favorite poem of Annie’s by T. Roethke
Mrs Ann as I affectionately called her as her Nurse Aid— a life that touched others with quiet strength, kindness, lots of smiles and grace. She will be remembered not only for what she did, but for how she made people feel seen, valued, and cared for. Her presence leaves a lasting imprint, and her memory will continue to live on in the hearts of those who knew and loved her. I can’t forget those beautiful smiles. Rest well with your maker Mrs. Ann.
--Zainab Osman
What a great lady! Huge smile, even bigger heart and always putting others first. I have such great memories of Annie. She found her path in life and lived it to its fullest. Amazing human being!
--Mike Hager
I knew Annie since the day I was brought to the United States in 1976. Her and my mom were in the convent together. I have so many great Annie memories, but one of my favorites is when I was visiting her in New York during college. I showed her a piece of my writing and she read it with tears in her eyes. Annie always encouraged and nurtured the writer in me. I haven’t written in a long time, but I think I’ll start again. Even though I wasn’t there for the last few years of Annie’s life, she will never leave me. Sending Alissa, Kristin and Scott love.
--Sarah Han