01/30/2026
I watched the news of Catherine O’Hara’s passing move through the community like a current. It showed up in brief conversations, in names spoken softly, in the shared recognition that something steady had shifted. Catherine O’Hara was not just admired. She was trusted.
She earned that trust through a lifetime of work that treated people as whole. Her characters were vivid and specific, never reduced to punchlines. They carried fear, ambition, tenderness, insecurity, devotion. She let all of it exist at once. Watching her, you felt recognized rather than corrected.
Catherine understood humor as a way of living, not a way of avoiding. “I think everyone is born with humor,” she once said, “but your life can beat it out of you, sadly, or you can be lucky enough to grow up in it.” That sentence explains her career. Her comedy protected what life tries to flatten. It preserved emotional range. It made room.
In Schitt’s Creek, she helped create a world where people were allowed to be fully themselves without punishment or apology. She understood that representation does not have to be traumatic to be true. Sometimes it just has to be stable. Sometimes it has to let people breathe.
Her work carries a quiet mental health legacy. Catherine modeled emotional fluency. She showed how intensity can coexist with steadiness, how grief can sit alongside humor, how vulnerability does not require self-erasure. “I think the success of my work stems from being truthful,” she said. That truthfulness is what audiences felt in their bodies when they watched her.
Catherine O’Hara leaves behind more than iconic roles. She leaves behind a felt sense of permission. Permission to be complex. Permission to be expressive. Permission to be human without shrinking. She lived her life in full voice. She trusted the audience to meet her there. And we will carry that forward.