The page, which was sent to family members and friends, included a photo of Annie and her mother, Margaret Ann Thomas, along with all the pertinent length and weight information normally associated with a recent arrival.

This unique birth annoucement was intended as a joyful celebration of the start of a fresh, new life. For many years a framed copy hung in Mr. Thomas’ office at the News and Press. Annie cringed each time she saw it; she never liked being the center of attention.

The second time Ann Boyd Thomas appeared on the front page was on the occasion of her death, at the age of 45. Had she seen it, she would have again shuddered at being so prominently featured. She would have felt herself undeserving of so much attention.

Annie always underestimated her own worth.

I was her business partner and her friend and have lived for the past several years with the gentle but constant pressure of her hand on my back.

Like a sculptor with a pile of clay or an artist facing a blank canvas, Annie had a special talent for seeing the potential in people, and in situations, and then finding a way to turn her ideas into realities.

She could turn a blank sheet of newsprint into an award-winning work of art. She helped transform neglected and homeless animals into beloved family pets.

Annie changed her tennis partner, who was teaching music to kindergartners at the time, into a writer and newspaper publisher. (That was me.) She influenced my career path, but most of all, she altered my very nature as she showed me the meaning of bravery and taught me how to be a real friend. It took her a while, but she never gave up.

For the past few years I have watched her step back time and time again in order to allow others to step forward, always giving them that little extra push when she thought they needed it.

For the past few weeks, I have watched her continue that pattern of behavior, but this time she did it from a hospital bed.

Annie’s visitors, and there were many of them, came to offer her all sorts of things. There were prayers and chocolates, daffodils and warm socks.
In return, she offered much more than words of thanks. Those who came to encourage her actually left her room feeling better than when they entered.

“These socks are such a nice blue,” she would say. “This color would look great on you. You should go yourself buy a blouse.”

She had worn little more than hospital gowns for weeks.

“You have to eat some of this candy; you’re too skinny!” she would declare.

Weeks before, she had lost most of her appetite and was unable to eat more than a few bites at a time.

“I know God hears you. Please come here and put your hand on my head and pray for me,” she would say.

She appeared frail, and physically she had become so, but she was never too weak to put that small hand on your back, just when and where it could do the most good.

One of Jesus’ parables in the Gospel of Matthew tells the story of a pearl of great price, so valuable to a particular merchant that he gave up all he had in order to attain it. This is typically considered an analogy explaining that the value of spiritual riches, or treasure in Heaven, is far greater than the total of all worldly goods.

But sometimes our friends can be like valuable jewels that enhance our lives. The pearl itself is a simple entity, formed by suffering in the heart of the oyster into something purely beautiful that gives joy and happiness to others.

I feel very strongly that I speak not only for myself, but for many others, when I say that Annie was like that precious pearl of very great value, and for having known and loved her, and having been known and loved by her in return, all of our lives have been made immeasurably richer.