Ann Cathryn Davidson
March 3, 1938-Nov. 13, 2024
Portola Valley, United States
Submitted by Karen Sophie Davidson de Sá
In life and in her passing at age 86 on Nov. 13, 2024, Ann Davidson guided and nurtured family, friends and all those she encountered with an unmatched devotion and optimism.
We can’t quite fathom that she is not still among us, and remain deeply stunned and saddened by how quickly our last days with her passed. And yet, there she is all around us! Not only in the mighty redwoods, Sierra Mountains and Great Blue Herons, but as her voice in our ears reminding us to: Live kindly. Act generously. Work to forgive. Fight injustice.
As a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother and a dear relation and friend to countless people around the world, Ann taught us. When she encountered tragedy, she had a rare ability to transform hardship into know-how, and to share it freely. She was an empathetic listener, problem-solver and consoler, with a capacity to love that seemed limitless.
Ann Cathryn Gelber was born in Los Angeles on March 3, 1938 to Annette and Murray Gelber. Annette was a warm and spirited mother to Ann and younger sister Jean, and an early supporter of progressive causes. She passed through this earth too fleetingly. Murray was an aerospace executive during the Great Depression, carrying on as a dedicated father, grandfather and great-grandfather.
Ann received her undergraduate and master’s degrees from Stanford University. In her early professional years, she worked as a speech pathologist, specializing in children with autism. Her professional relationships at the Children’s Health Council turned into lifelong friendships, nurturing the beginnings of a life of service.
She married Julian Mordecai Davidson, a quirky Scot who became a distinguished researcher at the Stanford University Medical School, in 1960. Together, they raised three children, Ben, Karen and Jeff, through turbulent years in the ‘70s and '80s, and managed family life across four sabbaticals in Oxford, Seattle, Athens and Washington D.C. Ann found adventure in each of these places, but coined the term "Sabbatical Wife Syndrome" to describe the experience of being uprooted and transplanted into a new environment. Jeff is now a technology consultant and musician in New York. Ben is a psychoanalyst in private practice and associate dean at Stanford. Karen is a journalist who specializes in child welfare and youth justice.
Throughout her life, Ann saw herself as an “agnostic Jew,” who sought to embody the principle of tikkun olam, or “repairing the world.” She made wonderful latkes, especially when people helped with the peeling and grating.
Ann's deep connection to nature and open spaces all around us fueled a lifetime of camping and backpacking — with family through the Pacific Northwest, national parks in the Southwest and later across Scotland and South America. She faced down an 8-foot grizzly in Alaska and hiked in Machu Picchu and the Galapagos. In the summer months, she sought refuge at her beloved Silver Lake Resort in the High Sierras.
With her enduring influence, the family has stayed true to its social justice-seeking roots. She led the way by registering voters for the NAACP during the civil rights movement, joining anti-war protests, fighting for peace in the Middle East and answering hotline calls for Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. Later, there were few Raging Grannies as dedicated as she. Until her final month, Ann enthusiastically helped her admired sister Jean write thousands of postcards in support of freedom and democracy.
Ann had a rare ability to distill wisdom from personal hardship. When she got breast cancer, she wrote a widely shared book of poems to guide survivors and physicians. Her “Modified Radical” work was published in The New England Journal of Medicine, which she was quick to note was an accomplishment even her PhD husband never achieved. Her “Breast in a Box” poem lives on in our memories, along with the many other mood-matching poems she sent to friends and relatives. The handwritten haikus were decorated with a cheery, stick-figured Ann raising a glass.
Julian and Ann were married for 41 years, until Julian’s passing in 2001. Ann cared for him through the progression of Alzheimer’s disease, for a dozen difficult but devoted years. She simultaneously sought to help other caregivers and patients, going on to publish two books and to give speeches in the U.S. and Japan about how best to manage a disease that takes away the mind but leaves much to love.
Ann also sought joy in books, her weekly writing group of 35 years, and bird-watching. She freely shared that love with anyone who could also appreciate a wood duck, warbler or varied thrush.
Ann’s three children, five grandchildren — Antar, Celina, Rasa, Julian and Simone — and two great-grandchildren, Selah and Yael, were ever-present in her life. They were people she thought endlessly about, fretted over, offered support to and deeply cared for — each in unique ways. They carry with them her spirit and affection in every birthday poem, Mears Court memory, emoji and exclamation point-studded text.
Ann spent her last three years in a place she loved — The Sequoias in Portola Valley. It was a move she worked for years to envision, plan and execute, and the effort paid off immensely. From the trails of Windy Hill, to the grandparents’ LGBTQ rights group, improving the dementia care center and scholarship fundraising for staff, The Sequoias offered her a rich community life. She spent her final years with dear, close friends.
Those of us who knew and loved Ann have experienced an immeasurable loss, given the outsized role she played in our lives. But now she is also with us like never before: She’s in all the people she told us countless times we should meet or reconnect with, in all the approaches to illness and hardship she advised us to take, and in the generosity she modeled for us. We live and breathe those lessons now.
Ann taught us how to live. And when her body reached its end, she taught us a new lesson: How to die. There were just two weeks between her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and her final breath. But throughout every minute of those 14 days, she maintained dignity, acceptance and calm.
Ann made her final political act a message about California’s End of Life Option Act. Following her mother Annette’s powerful example, she was an avid supporter of terminally ill people’s right to choose when and how to end their lives. Although this final act was not necessary in her case, Ann made sure that medical professionals, family and friends all understood the vital importance of this right.
As she would often say when closing out a message: “Onwards!”
Ann is survived by her sister Jean Colvin; children Benjamin David Davidson, Karen Sophie Davidson de Sá and Jeffrey Adam Davidson; grandchildren Antar Tarik, Celina Aisha, Rasa Lila and Julian Nitai Davidson de Sá; Simone Elise Davidson; great-grandchildren Selah Ayelet and Yael Maytal Queen Davidson; brother-in-law Bharat Rawal; sons-in-law Atsuro Riley and Ronaldo de Sá; daughter-in-law Katie Nielson; Gelber, Nasatir and Karpinos cousins, and Davidsons in the UK, Europe and Middle East.
Tags: public service
