I knelt down to pray the Rosary before the 4 p.m. Mass at St. Albert the Great Catholic Church, about 2 miles from my home. My primary Rosary intention on this windy March Saturday was for my mother-in-law Eileen, who was dying of cancer and congestive heart failure some 80 miles away.

As I finished my Rosary, I heard people begin to file in for Mass. Out of the corner of my left eye, I spotted a woman with white hair and eyeglasses, also kneeling in prayer. I’m not sure what prompted me to look her way again, but when I did, I paused my prayers. I looked back a second time and held my gaze.

At that moment, I wondered if Eileen had died, because the woman I saw praying some 50 feet from me looked exactly like her. I thought (almost aloud), “What am I seeing?” I rubbed both eyes and looked again.

I had to move to a different pew because Mass was starting. I didn’t see her again. I didn’t get a chance to look for the white-haired woman during or after Mass. I took her presence at that moment to be a sign that Eileen had either departed for Heaven or would do so shortly. She was at prayer in God’s house.

“His raiment became white and glittering.”

The Gospel reading for the second Sunday of Lent was from Chapter 9 of Luke. It describes how Jesus took Peter, James and John up the mountain, where he was transfigured before them. His “raiment became white and glittering,” the Gospel says. A cloud enveloped them and they heard the voice of God.

It was a very powerful experience for me. God’s perfect time. Some 15 hours later, at 7 p.m. on Sunday, March 16, Eileen Marie LaCanne left for Heaven. She was 85.

I was most blessed to have a chance to spend a few hours with Eileen during her last week. I had not seen her for years. After getting an update on Eileen’s condition from my daughter Samantha, I felt an urgent—almost panicked—need to visit. I wanted to see her again, and to make sure she received the sacraments of the Catholic Church.

The next morning, I brought my good friend, Father Richard Heilman, with me to visit Eileen. He asked her to hold a beautiful St. Benedict Crucifix while he gave her Last Rites, Holy Communion (in this setting called “Viaticum,” or food for the journey to eternal life). He then gave her an Apostolic Pardon.

Eileen looked tenderly at Jesus on the Crucifix while Father gave her anointing and prayed over her. She trembled slightly as she held the Crucifix. When Father finished, he blessed her with Holy Water from the springs of Lourdes, France, where the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared in 1858. He gave her a Green Scapular that had been touched to the relics of 165 saints and a relic of the True Cross of Christ.

In that moment—in her own way—Eileen was transfigured. Though days of physical pain and suffering still lay ahead, she was now spiritually ready to meet Jesus, assured of the Catholic Church’s full support and prayers in her final days.

Author, author!

Eileen had the soul of an author and poet. She consumed books voraciously, reading thousands of titles across the decades. Looking at all of her books that filled the shelves in her home, I had a thought that tied my mother and my mother-in-law together. My Mom taught reading for nearly three decades. Eileen taught by example the joy of reading. How strange that this thought never occurred to me before today.

Eileen always said she wanted to write a book. Her life and family stories would make compelling reading. She had the material. Despite her self-doubts, she also had the ability.

Eileen did not write a book during her very busy life. She WAS the book. She IS the book. Her volumes of journals are filled with hundreds of powerful entries on life’s joys and heartaches. Those handwritten notes will one day make a beautiful volume—and her name will adorn a hardcover book, just as she always dreamed.

An author of Eileen’s life story would come to know important things. Despite much suffering and sacrifice, Eileen so often rose above it all with a razor-like wit and a sense of humor that would compel Groucho Marx to tip his hat in admiration. I will remember so many things about this dear woman, but nothing more than her infectious laugh. She admitted it sometimes came out at inappropriate times, like when she was nervous. That was one of her charms.

January 21, 1992, was a case in point. Eileen came to visit her first grandchild at St. Luke’s Hospital in Racine. Sue and I both struggled a bit to change Stevie’s diaper. From across the room came that laugh. She could not hold it in. Eileen seemed to enjoy the scene of us floundering. My ears were steaming. Eileen came over and offered to get the diaper on properly. As soon as she unfastened the front, a stream of pee hit her right in the glasses. I felt an urge to let out at least a mild guffaw, but I stifled it like Edith Bunker.

Stevie had some other incidents at Ron and Eileen’s as a toddler. When it was hot out, he liked to walk around “diaper naked,” as he called it. He even had a little song that accompanied his state of undress: “Diaper-naked, eatin’ candy!”

One day Eileen found him peeing through the screen door leading to the back porch. We have photos of him at Granny’s house, butt naked, spraying Eileen’s car in the driveway. He was also known to chase people with the garden hose while in the buff. What a scene.

Laughter and tears were the bookends of Eileen’s life. One challenged and the other soothed. One tested and the other triumphed. Even on her deathbed, watching home movies, that laughter could not be stifled or suppressed. Almost like laughter from Heaven.

The former Eileen Marie Eichler was born on a Wednesday—February 7, 1940—in Racine, Wisconsin. She was the oldest child of Alex Eichler and the former Gertrude Proeber. She and her five siblings were spread in age across 23 years: Allen, Mike, Don, Liz, and Kevin. At age 5, Eileen sang “Our King” in the Christmas pageant at Christ Congregational church, according to an article in the Racine Journal-Times.

Eileen’s humor caught the attention of the local newspaper during her junior year at William Horlick High School. She was part of a feature photo atop Page 1 on Dec. 17, 1955. The caption said Eileen “used a play on words to be elected secretary-treasurer.” Her campaign poster featured a character wearing a little cap. The headline read: “Use your beanie. Vote for ‘Enie.”

Her grandchildren would laugh many times when Eileen told them her high school classmates called her “Wiener.” It appears she crafted a version of the nickname herself: “Enie.” Maybe it was “Ener?” I digress.

On June 15, 1963, Eileen was united to Ronald Clarence LaCanne in a marriage that lasted more than 51 years until his death on Sept. 25, 2014. They were blessed with three children: Patrick Ronald, Susan Elizabeth and Christopher Charles. Mothering came naturally to her, a vocation that would literally prove lifesaving during more than 38 years caring for a special-needs child while raising a girl and another boy.

Jesus said that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for another. That describes the adult life of Eileen LaCanne, caring for Pat, Sue and Chris. No greater love.

But in a most apparent way with Patrick, who was born with a heart defect, survived oxygen deprivation with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and suffered brain damage during a surgery when he was about 2 months old. He developed seizures that were severe and for the most part, beyond medical help.

Miracle treatment

Ron and Eileen took Pat to the Mayo Clinic. In January 1977, he underwent a revolutionary surgery—a hemispherectomy—that removed one lobe of his brain to put an end to the wayward signals that sparked the frequent seizures. Ron called it a “true miracle.” The procedure worked and the seizures stopped.

“He hasn’t had a seizure since,” Eileen told Robert Frahm of the Journal Times in January 1981. “To see him now you wouldn’t believe he came out with no after-effects. I expected him to be somehow an invalid, and he wasn’t at all.”

In 1977, Pat and his classmates in Room 9 at Wadewitz Elementary School helped create a book on dealing with seizures. The project was the brainchild of 23-year-old teacher Jan Damaschke. The book—titled “Gripping Tales”—was dedicated to Pat and classmate Keith Bretl (who died in 1992). Eileen wrote her own reflection for the book on mothering a child who suffers from seizures.

Before his life-saving surgery, Patrick had to wear a helmet when he went out to recess. He referred to himself as “Hard Head Harry.”

“It’s hard to write about my feelings as a mother of a boy plagued with seizures, because I’m afraid I may sound bitter and angry,” Eileen wrote in the 1977 “Gripping Tales” book. “I think I was for a long time. …I felt angry at everyone who had a calm life and had no idea of what we were living with and how this was affecting our whole family.”

One of the true low points, Eileen wrote, was at Halloween 1976, when she had to forego taking Chris trick-or-treating because Pat was on the couch suffering seizure after seizure. If he fell and hit his head, she explained, it could trigger a more severe wave of seizures. “It could be anywhere from 20 to 40 seizures at a time,” she wrote.

That following Christmas Eve, seizures left Pat “very hyperactive and unpleasant,” Eileen wrote. During one of these moods, Pat struck his father in the face and broke his glasses during the family’s annual Christmas party.

“Aside from the embarrassment this caused in a room full of relatives (most only seen once a year), the feeling of helplessness and frustration on that night about what we were going to do with Pat was almost too much to bear,” she wrote.

Words truly fail when trying to understand and describe what Eileen meant to Patrick and vice versa. It is often said that there is no love like a mother’s love. Yes, this is true. Eileen was absolute proof of that. It was emotional, exhausting and at times heartbreaking duty, but Eileen willed herself to push onward, even when things seemed darkest.

She and Pat made regular outings to area bookstores. Greenfield News & Hobby was a popular stop, not just for its figurines and memorabilia, but for early runs of pop-culture magazines they both liked to read. Our children often went along on weekend retail outings that forged a special bond with Patrick and Eileen. Pat would have been sad if he lived to see his favorite hobby shop close its doors in 2015 after 50 years.

Gallivanting with Pat also included many trips to the movie theater, often within a day or two of a new Hollywood release. The Lion King, Aladdin, Toy Story, Titanic, A Goofy Movie, Beauty and the Beast, Forrest Gump, The Iron Giant, Austin Powers, Mrs. Doubtfire and Jumanji were just some of films on Pat’s scorecard.

Stevie accompanied Pat and Eileen to the showing of Jumanji, a pretty intense special-effects fantasy film released in 1995. I was bothered a bit that a 3-year-old sat through that film. Granny was not known for saying no. Jumanji was only rated PG for “menacing fantasy action and some mild language.”

On her deathbed last week, Eileen brought up the film again. She told everyone in the room that I was mad at her for letting Stevie see Jumanji. I was dumbfounded that she had held onto such a belief all this time. I told her I certainly wasn’t angry at her. Any reaction I had happened 30 years ago.

It was a running joke in our family that Stevie got carte blanche when he was little. I would not change a thing, Eileen.

It was not all about retail therapy when it came to outings with Pat. There were countless trips to North Beach on Lake Michigan. As a toddler, Stevie used to demand to go to “Meeshigan.” Then there was the Great Circus Parade in Milwaukee, where Pat met Ernest Borgnine. Other events included parish festivals and even celebrity appearances. Pat met actor Larry Linville (Maj. Frank Burns from M*A*S*H) at Festival Hall.

Patrick’s health travails continued. He had two near-fatal heart episodes in 1997 that led to surgery to replace his implanted defibrillator. He also had surgery on his withered foot, which had gotten weak. He ended up in a wheelchair to prevent a broken leg or ankle. Doctors used bone from his hip to fashion a sturdier foot. After recovery from the surgery, his mobility returned.

Eventually Patrick again needed a wheelchair to get around. He and Eileen continued the outings as best they could. Eileen told of one day that she struggled to get Pat in the car and the wheelchair in the trunk after shopping at Mayfair Mall in Wauwatosa. It was snowy and slushy. She slipped and fell trying to lift the wheelchair into the trunk. She broke down in sobs. This was just too hard.

And yet she persevered.

Eileen made it her mission to give Patrick a happy life. And that she did. Patrick was a kindhearted, beautiful soul who delighted each of our children, Stevie, Samantha and Ruby, and delighted their cousin, Geoffrey.

Pat was a child at heart. Stevie spent many a night sitting on his bed watching World Wresting Federation (WWF) matches and admiring Pat’s museum-like display of collectibles and cartoon memorabilia.

Patrick’s figurine collection was a legend, paying tribute to the Three Stooges, Betty Boop, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Aladdin, Homer Simpson, Snow White, Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Fred and Wilma Flintstone, Donald Duck, George Jetson, Mufasa from The Lion King, Lucille Ball, and Mrs. Potts the teapot, voiced by Angela Lansbury in Beauty and the Beast. And many others.

The big wrestling events featured such luminaries as Andre the Giant, Ric Flair, Hulk Hogan, Bret “The Hitman” Hart, “Macho Man” Randy Savage, Ric Flair, Rowdy Roddy Piper, The Undertaker, Yokozuna, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and the great Hall of Fame announcer and former wrestler, Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.

Eileen always made sure Pat got to watch the pay-per-view matches on TV, such as WWF WrestleMania 13, held at the Rosemont Horizon on March 23, 1997. The featured match was between Sycho Sid and The Undertaker. Such luxuries pressed on the tight family budget, but these matches brought Patrick such joy it would be understandably difficult to say no.

I loved and revered Patrick from the first time we met. I invited him to my bachelor party in November 1990. A small group of us went to a Milwaukee Bucks game and then to an old-fashioned two-lane bowling alley housed in a Milwaukee tavern.

Patrick was in his glory, talking pro wrestling with the guys. He blew us all away with his bowling skills. It was no small feat for him to master a game like bowling. His right arm was partially paralyzed and curled up a bit from his disabilities. His left arm made up for it when it came to bowling.

That night, Pat took the bowling ball with his left hand and repeatedly fired it down the alley like a missile. He bowled close to a 200 game. I can still see everyone in my group giving Pat high-fives after each frame. He was truly one of the guys. I treasure my memories of that night.

In 2002, Pat’s health failed. Years before, he had a defibrillator implanted in his chest to correct dangerous heart rhythms, including tachycardia. This incredible device shocked his heart back into rhythm more than a few times over the years. The first one wore out and had to be replaced. A hole in his heart since birth led to a general weakening that grew worse in the fall.

In October, Pat was admitted to Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin, where much of his lifelong cardiac care took place. One night during a visit, I could see Pat was declining. I felt an urgency to get our parish priest, Father Joseph Stobba, to anoint Patrick and bless him for his journey back home to God. I asked Sue what she thought. She cleared it with their parents.

Father Joseph drove up in a rainstorm and arrived not even an hour after I called him. Father Joseph anointed Patrick and said prayers for the dying. We all prayed the Our Father. What peace God’s presence brought to that hospital room. Everyone was strengthened by Father’s visit and the Blessed Lord’s comfort.

Patrick died the next day, October 5. He was 38. Forever young. Since childhood, Patrick was obsessed with the number 5 and the color purple. So his death date on the 5th was a bit of Divine Providence.

The loss of a family member can be so devastating that it changes the fabric of life. Nothing feels the same. The world is missing a precious soul. Ron and Eileen felt the loss of their firstborn son more deeply than I could imagine. The bottom dropped out. A deep financial loss due to the collapse of the dot.com economy added to the weight of the crosses Ron and Eileen carried. Depression set in.

At the funeral home, Ron was understandably numb. The funeral director, who had badly botched the long obituary I wrote for the Journal Times, gave an encore in incompetence by getting Patrick’s last name wrong on the prayer cards. “Patrick McCann.” What? Who? Ron told the funeral director it was OK. I don’t know if Ron really comprehended what he saw, but he was not going to make an issue of it.

Sue and I grabbed the funeral guy and explained how not OK it really was. YOU GOT HIS NAME WRONG! YOU MUST REPRINT IT … NOW. Mr. Blunderstumble fixed the mess. He got new cards delivered during the visitation. It was no surprise to us when this funeral home later went out of business.

Ron and Eileen had to sell their house and move into an apartment. A fresh start in Burlington, Wis. The kids loved to visit. The Bridge Street complex sat on the Fox River. The area has a bunch of lakes. Their place was charming and became a new venue for family gatherings. It was a short walk to the Fourth of July parade and fireworks shot over Echo Lake.

My in-laws began coming to Mass with us at St. Rita Catholic Church in Racine. It was a long stretch from their days at the former Holy Name Catholic Church on Grand Avenue in Racine, where they were married June 15, 1963. Eileen had kept her faith alive for many years going to services with her mother Gertrude at Christ Congregational church on North Wisconsin Street. She grew up in that little brick church. Ron had fallen away from the Catholic faith.

“Help! Possible heart attack! I need help!”

Now we all were together at Sunday Mass, followed by what became a tradition: brunch at Douglas Avenue Diner in Caledonia, a mile or so north of St. Rita’s. Family bonds were strengthened during those countless meals. Religion was discussed, along with the news of the day. One of our most memorable weekends came in 2009, when Catholic filmmaker Steve Ray and his wife, Janet, joined us for Mass and brunch afterward. Steve was in town for a talk sponsored by my Knights of Columbus council.

For a time, Ron and Eileen came to live with us in Mount Pleasant after they were forced to leave their Burlington apartment. We had a full house, but it was a blessing. The kids have wonderful memories of having Granny and Gramps all to themselves each day. I would not trade a single minute of it.

They soon moved into a beautiful ranch home on St. Andrews Boulevard, near St. Mary’s Hospital. The house belonged to Ron’s maternal aunt and uncle, Jackie and Lyle Arnes. More memories were made in this new place. One Thanksgiving meal was served in the finished basement. I will never forget the sight of Ron and Eileen dancing. The kids loved it.

Ron’s health began to fail. One Fourth of July, after we all watched the incredible fireworks in Sturtevant, Wis., Ron stepped into traffic as we walked to our van. We grabbed him, as he clearly could not see the vehicle quickly approaching. That was a close call that jolted everyone’s adrenaline.

He was diagnosed with with prostate cancer. He began having attacks of tachycardia that sent his heart racing. One day while Sue, Eileen and the kids were out on errands, Ron called me. He never called me, so I knew something was wrong. The tachycardia was back.

I raced to the house and helped him get into my Honda Element. I was afraid he was going to pass out. Just as we were pulling out for the short drive to St. Mary’s, I called Sue to meet us at the emergency room. While speeding to get there, Sue was pulled over by a police officer. Eileen went into a panic, got out of the van and began pacing back and forth in the street. “You can’t do this!”

Once they explained the situation to the officer, he let them go. In fact he gave them an escort to the hospital. Moments earlier I reached the ER and ran inside, blurting out, “Help! Possible heart attack! I need help!” As medical staff got Ron out of the car into a wheelchair, Sue pulled up. Eileen raced inside with the medical team. Sue parked my car and headed inside while I took the kids home in our van.

Eileen and Sue watched the doctors use medication and a defibrillator to literally stop his heart and re-start it as a way to restore normal rhythm. It was painful. Ron cried out, “Oh God!” as they stopped his heart and shocked his chest. His heart rate was over 200 beats per minute before emergency treatment returned it to normal. These kinds of crises had become all too familiar to Eileen.

Ron and Eileen moved into senior apartments near the DeKoven Center on the south end of Racine, close to Lake Michigan. Another change of address. It was a nice complex and they made a comfortable home there. Ron’s cancer chipped away at his energy. He lost his eyesight. Eileen took good care of him, as she had for decades.

I was living in Sun Prairie at the time, but I made trips to visit. One day Ron and I sat in recliners and listened to the Packers game on the radio. We talked about his cancer and death. We talked about our Catholic faith. Ron received visits from the chaplain at St. Mary’s Hospital. They had gotten to know this priest by walking to Mass on Sunday at the hospital. He was from Africa. They forged a special bond. During one visit, Father left Ron with a small “comfort cross” carved from wood. Ron kept it in his palm.

I knew time was growing short during one visit. Ron was so weak he could not get out of bed to take a shower. So I carried him from the bed and got him onto a medical chair in the shower. The warm water soothed the pain and exhaustion in a body that was shutting down. As we got him toweled off, Ron apologized. He never wanted his son-in-law to have to carry him. I told him to put that thought out of his mind. I was honored and blessed to be there for him.

Later that evening we set up a CD player in his room and listened to some faith talks by the late Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen. Sheen taught me the Catholic faith. His eloquence was matched only by his dramatic presentation and ability to make the sacred mysteries understandable for everyone.

A good man gone too soon

Just a few days later I got a call around 3 p.m. that Ron had died. My heart sank. But I had hope, because Ron had embraced his faith late in life. The Africa-born priest became a best friend. Father made sure Ron had the sacraments of the Church. He died in a state of Grace on Sept. 25, 2014. He was 74.

I could only imagine the pain Eileen felt after the service at Draeger-Langendorf Funeral Home, as a military honor ceremony took place just outside the entry. The rifle salute was jarring, with each volley followed by the ting-ting-ting sound of the brass shell casings bouncing on the pavement.

The years after that became a blur to me. I saw Eileen at events like graduations, as well as an occasional Christmas Eve. We emailed and communicated on Facebook. But it was never the same again. I buried myself in a return to journalism during Covid and afterward, investigating the untold stories of Jan. 6 at the U.S. Capitol. I got updates from my children about family events. I treasured receiving photos of them with their Mom and Granny Eileen.

The real shock came when I was told of Eileen’s cancer diagnosis in 2024, and again in March 2025 as her life was slipping away. She had decided she would not put herself through the regimens of harsh chemotherapy, or endure all of the awful side effects.

I returned for a second visit on Friday, March 14, 2025. As I left the previous Monday, I told Eileen I would visit again. She grabbed my arm and said in a serious tone, “Don’t just promise you will come. Please make sure you do come back.” So I made her a promise to return and bring home movies for us to watch.

“I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

She had been in and out of consciousness all week. I did not know what to expect when I arrived around 6 p.m. Eileen’s high school boyfriend, Jack Christensen, answered the door. They had rekindled their relationship after Ron died. “I thought you were coming at 5 or I wouldn’t have locked the door,” he said. I apologized for my tardy arrival.

After working through some confusion, Eileen recognized me and recalled my visit with Fr. Heilman. I sat down and flipped open my MacBook Pro laptop computer. Jack propped Eileen up in her hospital bed and she watched some 14 minutes of video memories. I wanted to make a longer video but ran out of time. She watched and even laughed a few times.

I sat next to the bed and held her hand. We talked about the “good old days.” She remembered it all. Reminiscing can be such a balm for the soul, even when cancer wracks the body with pain.

Our conversation grew serious. “I want to die. I want to die,” she told me.

“No, you’re not ready yet. You are going to outlive me,” Jack told her.

I said when Jesus calls, she should feel free to go ahead and answer. Wanting to go home to God is normal. She lived a good life, suffered much and walked her final steps with her loving family.

After several hours, I was preparing to depart for my two-hour drive home. Eileen squeezed my hand, looked right at me and said, “I want you to know how much you mean to me.” I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I got a lump in my throat. It took a few seconds to regain my composure.

Those are among the most important and meaningful 11 words I ever heard. That was Eileen’s final gift to me.

When I had gathered my things, I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, just as I had done to my mother on her deathbed Dec. 26, 2018. “I love you, Granny. You have meant the world to me. The children absolutely adore their Granny. … I’m so glad I got to tell you that.”

Forty-eight hours later, Eileen Marie LaCanne drew her last breath.

Sue and two of our three children were with her. Although she had been in pain and restless, at around 7 p.m. she slipped away. Lifted up by angels to meet Jesus and be reunited with Ron, Patrick, her parents and many others who went home before her.

I had already been working on a slideshow to honor Eileen when my daughters called to tell me she had died. [Watch the tribute video on my JComm website.]

I sat down and began to write this tribute. I did not get far before I was overwhelmed by grief. The sobs came in waves. My little dog Mickey watched me with concern. I regained my composure and reached for the Kleenex box. For a moment, I felt I was watching myself carrying on and wondering, “What is wrong with you? What just happened?”

I came to realize many things reflecting on the 35 years since I first met Eileen. She might have thought I was nuts during my engagement to Sue. One Sunday in 1990 I came over for dinner. Sue was not home from her Army National Guard duty. With war brewing in the Middle East, I was worried her unit would be sent overseas before our December wedding.

So to burn off my nervous energy, I grabbed the upright vacuum cleaner and zoomed around the expansive carpeted floors of their ranch home. Kitchen, dining room, living room, hallways. Back and forth, back and forth. If I recall, Eileen’s mother commented to her after the vacuum incident that I was “rather peculiar.” Indeed.

I told Eileen many times during those years that she was my second mother. Today I realize that it was even more than that. She was a treasured friend. That’s why we had such fun discussions around the Sunday dinner table. She was easy to talk to and funny—much like someone else in the family that I came to know.

On a Sunday evening in March, I lost my second mother and a dear friend. This kind of person comes along once in life—if one is very fortunate. That’s why Eileen’s death hit me so hard. I’m sure it was much worse for Sue and our children. It’s hard to calculate the depths of this loss.

I left nothing unsaid. I told Eileen I loved her. I thanked her for being a great mother to Pat, Sue and Chris, a very close “Granny” to five grandchildren and a great-grandmother to our two new granddaughters, Gwen and Sabrina.

Eileen’s voice has been stilled.

But just like with Patrick, I can still hear her laughter—all the way from Heaven. •

—Watch the tribute video shown at Eileen’s March 29, 2025, visitation.

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