Tricia Lynn McLean; October 6, 1962 – March 18, 2024
An Obituary and Love Letter from a Brother, for a Sister
Tricia died. Tricia. Died. …
Two words that are so opposed to one another that, when uttered together, it is simply incomprehensible.
“Wait… Tricia? Died? What?! No!?!”
Our hearts skipped a beat, our stomachs dropped, our mouths went dry, and those words spun relentlessly in our heads as we struggled to comprehend the incomprehensible. Yet, that is what occurred on Monday morning, March 18, 2024.
At the time of this writing, full comprehension only now setting in, acceptance still far ahead, there is a case to be made that contradicts those words and this tragedy: Tricia didn’t die. Tricia lived!
Born Tricia Lynn Owen on October 6, 1962, she was the second of five children to Robin and Beverly Owen. This was a Catholic household, so the kids came fast and early, close together. It was loud, busy, often hilarious, sometimes maddening. But mostly wonderful – in that classic middle-class 1970s ‘Brady Bunch’ sort of way. We shared bedrooms, rode bicycles, traveled in station wagons, ate at the table, said grace, camped, went fishing, watched drive-in movies, attended softball games – all of it. And all of it together.
Yet, somehow, the five of us managed to carve out our own individual identities. Some would say we were independent. Some would even say we were fiercely independent. And none of us more fierce than Tricia. She always had a certain determination about her. I think she considered herself somewhat of an underdog. She had a chip on her shoulder that fostered the audacity to rise above her perceived commonness; to be that person capable of proving anything she believed was right. A rebel. She lived.
As we all grew, grade by grade, matriculating through St. Anthony’s School in Renton, and on through Renton High School, this strong-willed rebel became a stunningly beautiful young woman, utterly devoid of conceit. She hated her hair. But she loved style. Britannia jeans, painter pants. Tricia was the taste-maker among us. She brought disco into our house. She loved soul. Dad didn’t much care for it, but that was counterculture. That was breaking the mold. She was just so damned cool. And that was the life… she lived.
And as she grew into adulthood, that chip on her shoulder began to fill with intellect, cerebral prowess, dignity, and class. She became resolute in her opinions and her choices. She was someone who seemed determined to manifest her own destiny. Tricia went on to college at Central Washington University. She valued education. She said many times, even then, that she would prioritize education in her family. College, she said, would be a requirement, not a choice. This, coming from a young lady who had grown up in a blue-collar, working-class home. Again, breaking the mold.
And she was right. I think college is where Tricia put all the pieces of that fierce independent personality, keen intellect, and sheer beauty together. She formed lifelong friendships, brought college radio home in the summer (Dad didn’t much care for it), and she traveled, spending a summer in France. She lived.
And oh the boyfriends… so many suitors; so little chance…
Until one day, having graduated with her Bachelor’s degree in Business and Accounting and beginning to forge her career doing the books for a small wholesale bakery, in walks this young man with sandy blond hair, a big wide smile, and a casual, confident demeanor. He shared her ambition, love for education, and so many formative experiences in common, growing up. All packaged within a rakish, boisterous attitude that contrasted with Tricia’s ferocity. It was, indeed, a match made in heaven.
This, of course, is a love story of its own. But, suffice it to say that I think Chuck McLean was the first man in Tricia’s life that ever truly fascinated her. She would tell me years later, “I wasn’t sure about Chuck at first, but each day with him just kept getting better, then each year, and so on. And it still just keeps getting better.” That stuck with me. That’s living.
Tricia and Chuck were married in a beautiful winter ceremony in Seattle on December 21, 1990, and found a house near Lincoln Park in West Seattle. She gave birth to two girls, Chelsea and Julianne, and a boy, Charlie (Chuck). The birth of her first child seemed to have a profound effect on her. My sister, Tracee, said that at the moment Tricia held her newborn daughter in her arms, her true faith awakened.
They raised their family in the Catholic Church at Holy Rosary Parish in West Seattle; the kids attended school there. And of course, Tricia became integral in that church and school community, even becoming the chairperson for organizing WestFest, a huge carnival-like fundraising event for the parish, and President of the School Commission. She loved her church and lived her faith.
She lived.
As her children grew (all of them attending college, of course), so did Tricia’s career. She started at the Seattle Storm in 2008 when she was hired as the Vice President of Finance and Human Resources and in 2014, became their Chief Financial Officer. The Storm had become as much her family as her church had been. She made room for all of it. Tricia was the biggest Storm fan I knew.
What I didn’t know was just how accomplished she was. In 2019 she was recognized by the PSBJ as a CFO of the year honoree. I had to find out from Chuck. It wouldn’t surprise me if only very few of her friends and family knew the full scope of her accomplishments because Tricia was the last person to bring praise or attention onto herself. She never craved the spotlight, often choosing to spend birthdays away somewhere with Chuck. She would hate all this fuss about her, now. But that’s what happens when someone you love suddenly goes away. With so many friends and colleagues – too many to list here – and her family who are her everything…
And here we all are, still in shock. Tricia was always such a straight shooter; she didn’t mince words if she had an issue with you. Indeed, I can only imagine that she is currently having a few words with God about the timing of all of this. And yet, nor did she mince words if she told you how proud she was of you, or how much she loved you.
So neither will I. This sucks. There is no silver lining that I can see to such an amazing person being plucked from us at this time. Although, I don’t suppose any time would be ideal – Tricia just kept ascending. This final ascent is hard for us. But Tricia’s faith was strong. And so must ours be, for if we lose it, we jeopardize the chance to see her again.
So let us all go on, and live like Tricia would, or as best we can. Because if we don’t, it’s death.
There will be a funeral mass on Saturday, 27 April, 2024 at 11 AM at Holy Rosary Church in West Seattle, followed by a reception. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in Tricia’s name. A few of her favorite organizations include Mary’s Place, Holy Rosary School – Fr. Mallahan Endowment Fund, and Turn Point LIghthouse Preservation Society. (The Lighthouse is where Chuck proposed and Tricia said “yes!”)
A discussion of the Fauntleroy 
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