Ann Harkey

13 November 1947 - 03 November 2021 Survived by her loving husband, Ron Harkey, and the children she so adored, Aaron Harkey, Damon Harkey and Ruth Harkey McCombs and so many she touched in her magnificent circle of love. A Memorial to follow in February 2022. From a post by her son, Aaron... I am thinking today how sometimes the least expected things can be the greatest blessings. I am thinking of my mother in the hour that she got ready for her last morning walk yesterday. I am picturing my pop taking a call from an old friend of theirs, lying in bed with his earbuds and her, maybe finishing their last cup of coffee before getting up. I think about how she spent her last hour in this house hearing him, revel in their good fortune and his happiness. I wonder how many times she glanced at him or mouthed, “Stop, now!” as he praised her many virtues and said aloud that he was living his best life with the woman of his dreams after winning the life lottery. If you have been in a room with them both for any period of time, you have seen her in this moment. Embarrassed and pleased. “I am like Lou Gehrig, the luckiest man on the face of the earth. How blessed am I to have had that phone call?” he shouts today almost but not at random. No arguments here. Very blessed, Popa. No rebuttals from any of us. We have all been--you maybe most and longest of us all--so blessed. And I am thinking about her gentle touch and pleased smile and the underlying flirtation that always seemed a fabric of your relationship, vibing as she gently put your socks on before stepping out. I am thinking that when you left the house, Mom, you were probably already looking forward to coming home. Thinking that, it is beautiful and remarkable that you were able to leave him with a touch and look that conveyed love beyond measure. The kind of love that can make a man scream his good fortune even as he’s had his heart wrecked. And we are wrecked, and I want you to know that you have three of the luckiest kids and a batch of the luckiest grandkids that have ever gotten to come together as a family. I am thinking that even though you held a healthy disdain for social media and 21st century technology (even some 20th century, let’s be honest), it is somehow miraculous that there are many of my friends (and Damon’s and Ruth’s) that sought shelter in your kitchens and valued your attention, and they will have a chance to think of you today and remember because of it. But mostly, I am thinking of you, Mom, and all you gave and did for me and the three of us. I am so happy to be grateful right now. You taught me, realized that you HAD to teach me, from the moment that Damon was born, that love, and empathy were muscles and would have to be my strength. When we moved and everything fell apart and I just missed taking my own piece off the board, I learned from you that bent is not broken. I am thinking how good it was to call you Tuesday night and have you actually answer your own phone and how I laughed to myself and at you as you struggled to put me on speaker as I tried to explain that I was only calling to tell you I loved you and to have sweet dreams, and how happy I felt signing off with a feeling that you and Pop were truly happy and warm and safe, finally in the house and life of your dreams, just down the street from Carla and Steve, and from Ruthie and Steve and Dean. That was just 12 hours before you were assassinated by chaos and entropy, stolen by the shadow in the form of a box truck as you stepped into that last crosswalk on your way back home. There is no sense to be made of this. When I picked up Cora from school yesterday at lunch, she said that this was not the way things are supposed to go. She is right. I am thinking that our sail and wheel and rudder are gone. Torn free and lost in one rogue swell, and that even so we will float to safe harbor. You designed the ship, Mom, you infused every timber and joint with the steel of your love. And we will always continue loving you and each other. We will find our way. Thank you to everyone that has reached out to our family and my father as this news has spread. It means so much. And, Mom, whenever I am worried that I won’t find my way through or when I question myself as a parent, I will remember whose son I am. I will remember who my mother is. Thank you for loving Pop, and all of us, and for giving us everything we have that is true and good to offer in this world.