RIP Claudette Colbert | September 13, 1903 - July 30, 1996
Father Grear was invited to lunch; Claudette looked every inch the movie star, with every hair in place, except that her condition was at odds with her image: Marie had to feed her. Father Grear was so captivated by her sheer presence that he could not help sounding like a fan: “I only know of one word to describe you.” Claudette was intrigued: “What is it?” “Exquisite,” Father Grear replied. Beaming, Claudette acknowledged the compliment. The end came on 30 July. Claudette, barely breathing, said, “I want to go home,” pointing upwards. O’Hagan stayed with her until the end. Father Grear and the Bellerive staff remained outside her hospital room. Then O’Hagan noticed something unusual: a double rainbow arched across the sky. At the reception at Mortimer’s after the memorial service, Marie Corbin, who faithfully served her for thirty-one years, recalled a dream she had after Claudette’s death: “I dreamt that she’s happy; I saw her laughing.” And that is the way Claudette Colbert should always be remembered - happy and laughing.