Her obituary has already run in the paper, so there’s no reason not to tell you that Nancy’s mom, Jo Nichols, died on July 28. She was 83. Nancy likes to say that people often mistook her mom for her sister. It’s not an exaggeration. The first time I met Jo, that’s precisely what I thought. “Nancy’s older sister is really cool.” Jo was a firecracker. And she would have been proud to see her daughter’s eulogy today at Restland. Nancy titled it “Bury Me in Bluejeans,” which was Jo’s request. Nancy killed it. She was brave and funny and moving, and, until her closing lines, when she finally allowed herself to tremble, just a bit, Nancy’s were the only dry eyes in the place. But before she began her speech, as she took the lectern, Nancy looked out over those solemnly assembled at Wildwood Chapel, saw me in my fine tux and purple vest from Al’s Formal Wear, and said with a chuckle, “Oh, Timmy.”
Returning to work, I had to walk a total of four blocks, from the Arts District parking garage to St. Paul Place. I arrived at my desk having sweated clean through my dress shirt and cursing this mortal coil.