Kay Robinson Cannon

As dawn broke over the Blue Ridge Mountains in Asheville, NC, on July 9, 2026, Kay (nee Robinson) Cannon peacefully transitioned into her next life.

Kay (Native Texan, esteemed Cannon Family matriarch, and lover of all things art, canine, floral, and the color “red”), had spent the previous day fielding a parade of visits and phone calls from friends and family. She was aided by her daughter-in-law, Amalia (“Molly”) Cannon, an infatigable force of nature who Kay referred to with deep affection as “her Molly” (followed by the statement “Everyone needs a Molly.” This writer agrees).

As a team, the two spent Kay’s final hours sending and receiving love to those Kay held dear. Chief among them were her surviving family members, including her youngest grandson, Dr. Christopher (“Chris”) Cannon (soon to be married to Dr. Ally Sowers), her only biological granddaughter, Maria (“Ria T.”) Cannon, Esq., and her eldest grandson, Andrew (“Drew”) Cannon.

Through Drew’s call, the proud father of two strapping young boys (Luka, b. 2023, and Niko Cannon, b. 2026) was also able to convey the love of his children (Kay’s great-grandchildren), both of whom were sleeping. Drew, along with his brilliant wife Dr. Ina Jazic, gave Kay the indescribable joy of meeting her youngest relatives on numerous visits to Asheville, which were a highlight of Kay’s final years.

Kay, known to the grandkids as “Casey” (think about it: “K.” + “C.” = “Casey), and the great-grandkids as “Gran-Casey” (a moniker the matriarch awarded to herself, telling this writer that, “It has a nice ring to it”), experienced the death of a poet’s in that she (despite not looking a day over age 75) had no desire to crest into the 90s, and so almost certainly brokered a deal with God to depart from this world the day before what would have been her 91 st birthday (Kay was born July 10, 1935, in scenic Perryton, Texas and lived as a youth in Plainview, Texas, where she attended Plainview High School and was named Valedictorian of her high school class).

In addition to her daughter-in-law-Molly, her only son Jim (more on that below), her grandkids, and great-grandkids, Kay also survived by her artist sister Ann, and a verifiable mult-baseball team roster of close friends, including her former neighbor and all-around BFF, Ellen McCotter, and her trusted confidant and long-time advisor, Helen Reed, and her friend Nobu Tanaka-san, a fellow Deerfield resident Kay met while volunteering to “do the flowers,” as she called it (in fact, what Kay was doing was highly-skilled flower arranging as charity). That this is how they met is no surprise, as Kay spent a lifetime serving and volunteering, including as a former greeter at Deerfield’s Haden Hall welcome desk, where Kay protectively kept out the riffraff with a measured gaze, and greeted all others with her signature grace.

Kay’s natural willingness to volunteer showcased just one aspect of her community spirit. In her student days at Texas Tech, she pledged the Kappa Alpha Theta sorority and (in the course of Greek-sponsored events) met her late husband James (“Buck”) Cannon at a fraternity mixer. Upon meeting, Buck declared Kay “the prettiest girl in Texas,” a title he, throughout the remainder of his life, never ceased to pronounce, and she, in turn, called him “God’s Happy Warrior,” which, with his big Texan-smile and effervescent love, he certainly was (note: a golden thread the writer is witnessing continues in the life of her 2.5 yr old nephew, who, when smiling, produces the spitting-image of Buck’s classic grin).

But smiles most likely to get a matching result out of Kay nearly always came from her son, James (“Jim”) Cannon, and this was because, (as Kay would tell you) Jim’s dimples pop out like mischievous headlights whenever he’s preparing to deliver a witty remark. Kay’s beloved daughter, Ann (nee Cannon) Smith spared her mother this playful torture, and, the two shared a special bond. This was clear even in the years since Ann’s passing (d. 2004), because Kay was known to talk of her and Ann’s shared affection for that pristine piece of paradise mortals know as the Taylor River outside of Gunnison, Colorado. This is where Kay and Buck’s family of four spent many happy years summering and congregating for holidays, eventually purchasing a vacation home (called “Canyon Castle,” complete with a bespoke, artisan-produced sign), where celebrations continued for decades.

At Canyon Castle (and anywhere Kay resided in during her lifetime), she emerged as a renowned hostess. Someone who would not only iron your sheets, but who kept a never-ending jar of the best molasses cookies on the planet (thin, chewy; perfect balance of sugar and spice) on the counter, and would (when pressed) make fried chicken so good that Jim requested it every single birthday growing up.

Given the hospitality, it’s natural that those welcomed at Kay’s family hearth always felt that the party ended too soon, and so it feels with the passing of our dear Casey. Like Kay’s molasses cookies, fried chicken, and world-class “yum-yum” (a stalwart family-favorite akin to macaroni), Kay’s beauty, intellect, wit, generosity, and powerful love will never be replicated.

But this writer will damn well try.

She (this writer) hopes that, one day, in shooting for the moon, in hoping to come close to emulating her Casey, a woman so sophisticated and wise that she could tell you point-blank that the difference between beer and Scotch (her drink of choice) is that “scotch has class”, she will hit a star. And so somehow present some shade of Casey, in complete reverence and gratitude for the incredible privilege it has been to grow up “Kay Cannon’s granddaughter”.

My Casey, I can only hope that the angels were braced for your triumphant crossing into the eternal embrace. And I do hope that they serve Grey Goose in heaven. If not, we both know there’s hell to pay. Love, Ria T.

P.S. Please join us in a celebration of Kay’s life at 11:00 on Saturday, July 18, at Trinity Episcopal Church in Asheville, NC. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to the American Cancer Society.