Everyone knew Kate Walsh O’Beirne. She was famous, of course, in the way that people can only dream of being in Washington. There wasn’t anyone who wouldn’t take her call or do her a favor. Instantly recognizable at nearly six feet tall, blonde, and dressed to the nines, she was one of the most attractive women I ever knew. Her personality was magnetic: a lively voice, quick wit and razor-sharp intellect. But it was her kindness and genuine interest in people that set her apart in a self-serving town.
I met Kate through my husband, Ramesh, who shared an office with her for many years at National Review. They made an odd couple, Kate and Ramesh, but everyone knew how fiercely loyal they were to each other. A hard-working journalist, Kate relied on him to help form her opinions and refine her arguments (“Ramesh, what do WE think about this?”) and Ramesh relied on her canny ability to see around corners and read people. She used to tease me when I would mention my love for him by saying, “Yes, but I loved him first!” In their more than two decades of friendship, they never had a cross word. He was her adopted son, and she adopted me as her daughter. Before we were married, she made it official by serving as Ramesh’s Godmother at his baptism. I never saw her more pleased, until Easter Vigil of 2004 when Ramesh and I were both received into her beloved Church.
For nearly 17 years, Kate was my closest friend and constant companion. She played a role in securing every job I ever had, including several wonderful years working directly for her. We rarely went a day without communicating: She was my sounding board and confidant. My young daughters knew that when Mrs. O’Beirne called, they had at least an hour of unsupervised playtime. We laughed a lot, too. Kate was one of the funniest people in Washington, and she never took herself too seriously (we found it hysterical when we graced the centerfold of The New York Times Magazine in a rather ridiculous photo a few years ago, the only time we would be able to call ourselves centerfolds!). Like any doting mother, she shared recipes and sent me links to clothes and jewelry I had to buy and books I had to read. We traveled together—on many, many National Review cruises, and separately to Rome. We threw parties together. We cooed over photos of my girls and her grandkids (ever private but always nosy, she would log into Facebook under my account for years). She gave me invaluable parenting advice, and encouraged me as a mother at my lowest points.
Much will be written about Kate’s generosity — she was always eager to help or give someone else the credit. She had a special love for priests, and they were often guests in her home or, tight on funds, sent to Rome on her dime (“He gave his life for the Church, the least I can do is get him to Rome! I made sure he had some money for cappuccinos, too, because no one should be moping around Rome and not be able to stop for a cappuccino.”) She had the gift of friendship, and she gave freely of her time to encourage us. But more than that, she engendered a spirit of love and camaraderie among all her girlfriends (“April, how much do we love Barbara?”). Any woman who reads this tribute will know just how unusual that is. And she truly believed in all of us. She thought we should be running everything, no matter what it was. Even with all of her accomplishments, she always made us feel better about ourselves. Lord knows how many risks I took because Kate believed in me. And she taught me, in that Irish way of hers, that you always do right by people, that you always go to the funeral.
She found out it was cancer last summer, when I was with my family in Italy (naturally, we were spending time in Sorrento at a small villa that Kate loved and insisted we visit). The blow was graciously softened since we didn’t know the severity of her condition until weeks later. Slowly she began to retreat, and a deep and foreboding sadness crept in.
Yesterday we had to say goodbye. We were in Florida when we heard the end was near, and we caught the next flight out. Kate was used to waiting for me — she was always early, I was usually running late — and her family told me she was waiting for me this time, too. We spent more than a dozen beautiful hours with her before she passed; we held her hand and told her so many things. I made her many promises, but in return I made her promise that she would continue to advocate for me in heaven.
And so in the early morning hours of my 39th birthday, I am grieving the loss of my dearest friend. But I thank God for the perfect gift of my precious Kate, and recall with gratitude and humility how blessed I am that she chose to love me.
Rest in peace.
April Ponnuru (@AprilPonnuru) is a contributor to the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog. She is a senior adviser at the Conservative Reform Network. Previously she was an adviser to Jeb Bush’s presidential campaign.
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