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My favorite journalist in The Trib newsroom is leaving us Monday, and I wanted you to say farewell before she shuffles out our door.

Her name is Barbara Kerr Page.

Barb.

You've read her work for 26 years, though her name rarely accompanied the words, the successes, the passion, for which she is largely responsible.

But I promise: If you've ever been captured by a wry or evocative Trib headline, discovered the point of a story three paragraphs earlier - and better - than originally crafted, or simply found an interesting piece somewhere on our pages, chances are Barb had something to do with it.

Sometimes, everything to do with it.

Since late August, I've not wanted to write, or even talk about, our losses as the newspaper takes on water - listing this way and that as a sale or closure loomed (and no, I still don't know which way it will go).

It's not that The Trib doesn't matter, but the city we cover matters more. In my view, that's where our focus should be.

But if you'll indulge me just this once, I want to tell you a little about Barb, the best copy editor in the country.

She might be as good a wordsmith as I've ever known. For all the wonderful writers this newspaper has possessed - Pulitzer winners and best-sellers have slurped the black acid we call coffee - she may very well be the best. Excellent reporters can make 14 or 40 or 70 inches of copy sing. Only the most extraordinary talent can construct an aria of three or five or 10 words.

It's a craft and an art and an avocation: something to appreciate, impossible to replicate.

This isn't all hearts and flowers, though. I have to note that I've often wanted Barb's head on a plate. She can be a pain in the neck and beyond. I've sometimes considered her my worst professional enemy. I used to call her, dismissively, the "managing editor emeritus," because she always had a better way to write a story - and was never afraid to clear her throat when the opportunity presented itself.

I used to worry that I was the only one who'd bump heads with Barb, but the truth is, we all have - photographers and sports guys, fellow copy editors, office managers and editorial writers. She wasn't always right, but her percentages were pretty good. And, damn, that bugged a lot of us.

Like many copy editors, Barb's a stickler for detail - often to the point where I've wanted to grab the nearest stick and beat her with it. But her gift, I came to learn, was more than a copy hound's reflexive need for order. It was a drive for perfection, for symmetry, for the very best.

In an industry where too many have cut corners, budgetary and otherwise, done a little ethical shimmy and shake, or simply tried to accept mediocrity, Barb was a boulder in the road. Often, I think this newspaper's unstated goal was to try to reach the tough standard she set for 2 decades. And thank God for that: The Trib, a winner of just about every journalism award there is, still strives even in some of its darkest days.

Maybe that's because we can actually watch Barb's magic under unimaginable duress.

For a couple of years now, she's struggled with serious eyesight problems. Talk about cruel ironies - a nonpareil reader and writer facing blindness.

It would've shelved others for good. Not Barb. Every morning, she trundled in at 5:30, ready to meet the day. By 5:31, she was squinting into her blue screen with her one good eye, arming herself with a question or 10 that would make a story better, fairer, more complete.

By 5:32, she was dialing the telephone to our sleep-deprived desk editors. Trust me, we all know the ring.

In retrospect, such predictability may have given me, given all of us, a false sense of security.

The morning after Christmas, Barb walked into my office - the office she almost certainly could have occupied, but never did - and told me she planned to leave The Trib.

It was time, she said. And while I respect her right to decide that, I have to think part of her is worn down, heartbroken by the uncertainty she and her colleagues find themselves in. This situation flies in the face of a woman who has always searched for a true north and battled for what is right and fair.

So I'm finishing this column at a time when she won't be able to edit it. In some ways, it's a Trib fantasy come true - I'm getting the last word on Barb Page.

But really, it's the most awful thing in the world. Barb Page could've made this column better.

I promise.