Love her, hate her, or feel ambiguity towards her (yes, there are two or three out there), I don't believe there is a decent human being in the country who could read this column and not feel compassion for Ann Coulter.

he longest baby ever born at the Albany, N.Y., hospital, at least as of May 5, 1926, who grew up to be my strapping father, passed away last Friday morning.

As Mother and I stood at Daddy's casket Monday morning, Mother repeated his joke to him, which he said on every wedding anniversary until a few years ago when Lewy bodies dementia prevented him from saying much at all: "54 years, married to the wrong woman." And we laughed.

What can I say except that I wish I had the opportunity to have met this man who Ann describes so lovingly and with such obvious admiration.

But the most touching part of the piece comes at the end -- where, appropriately, she talks about the end.

And last Friday morning at 2 he passed away, in his bedroom with Mother. The police and firemen told my brother that they kept trying to distract Mother to keep her away from the bedroom with Father's body, but she kept padding back into the bedroom to be close to him.

The couple had been married for over half a century. I wish I could the opportunity to meet her mother as well. She sounds like quite a lady. Her father obviously invested wisely when he bribed his FBI colleagues to allow him to ask her out first.

And so to Ann and her brothers, I offer condolences on the lost of their father. And to her mother, Nell, I offer my condolences on the loss of the companion of most of her lifetime -- and the assurance that they will meet again, for there can be no doubt that a love like theirs endures for all eternity.