I never saw a day when the sun didn't shine on Mary Skinner. Even in the long, bleak months of her cancer treatment, she found a way to make you feel better about yourself.

Maybe it was the way her face lit up when she met you, or those eyes of hers that danced about whenever she would talk. And she was a talker, so those eyes were never still.

For Mary, every day meant she had a chance to lend a hand, share a greeting, befriend a stranger.

That gift of joy she brought to so many is now gone following her death Thursday morning after a three-year battle with colon cancer. Her passing comes less than three weeks after the death of Hal, her husband and constant companion.

Mary certainly made an impression when she showed up at our newspaper following her election victory in 1994.

The first Latino elected to the Legislature from the Yakima Valley, Mary arrived brimming with excitement. In tow was her fellow House Republican Jim Clements, who also represented the 14th District. Jim came with an agenda; Mary came armed with a basket of freshly baked muffins. When I tried to decline the treats, Mary pulled out a tub of butter and a knife. How could I resist?

So as they chatted about the upcoming session, I stuffed myself with the oven-warmed muffins. Of course, the fresh food worked its magic. Each time I tried to ask a question, crumbs would explode from my mouth. So I just sat there and listened. Through this culinary finesse, Mary had found a way to muzzle a journalist.

During her next 14 years in Olympia, critics would often complain that she was too nice, too easily swayed. Not enough backbone, I heard once.

But she showed her grit when it counted most. Like the time she refused to back down on the issue of abortion during a turbulent time in 1997 when House Republicans held a majority. She was among only a handful of GOP lawmakers who supported abortion rights. A bitter battle ensued when she voted against a ban on "partial-birth" abortions. But she held her ground.

That showed toughness. She also proved her mettle when she pushed for "Anton's Law," a requirement for additional car-safety restraints for children older than 3.

It was named for Anton Skeen, a bright and bubbly 4-year-old boy who died in 1996 when the car he was riding in rolled over along Interstate 82 south of Ellensburg. Anton slipped out of his seat belt and was thrown from the vehicle. Anton's mother and father had both worked at this newspaper. The day he died, Anton was to have visited our newsroom with his mother.

Mary fought for that legislation, and it became law in 2000, making Washington the first state in the nation to require the added booster-seat restraints. Within five years, the federal government had also passed its own law.

So much for having no backbone.

I never really forgot those muffins she had brought to our newspaper. So a few years ago, when Mary was in the throes of another round of chemotherapy, I decided to make her and Hal a homemade supper of baked Parmesan chicken. It was one of my late wife's favorites when she was going through her cancer treatments.

When I drove up to their home, I didn't know what to expect. I hadn't seen Mary in weeks. I feared the worst.

Hal greeted me at the front door and led me into the living room. After I settled into a chair, I could hear Mary's voice from down the hall. She sounded good, I thought.

Then she entered the room, talking a mile-a-minute with her arms waving wildly about. It was vintage Mary. Cancer had not beaten her just yet.

That's when I first met their cat Caramellow. How Hal and Mary loved her. The cat had showed up one day in the backyard of her mother's home. Hal described the feline as "emaciated, flea-ridden, unkempt and hissing." Though they thought she was a kitten, they were told she was 7 or 8 years old. She was also deaf and had only one tooth.

But into their lives Hal and Mary welcomed her, and how Caramellow flourished.

In 2007, Hal and Mary wanted to tell everyone what Caramellow meant to them. So after dropping Mary off in Olympia for a committee meeting, Hal drove all the way back to Yakima so he could have his photograph taken with Caramellow for our special section, "Pets and Their People." For 20 minutes, our photographer worked with Hal to get just the right pose. I was there, too, cheering the two on.

Last year, Hal called and left me a phone message. He was weeping. Caramellow had died. He wanted to tell me, and to let me know how much Mary had loved the cat.

I already knew. I had seen it in her eyes.

* Editorial Page Editor Spencer Hatton can be reached at 577-7704 or shatton@yakima-herald.com.