She'll always be my "Squirt." I don't remember when or why I started calling her that, but it just seemed to fit. She's gone now, so I guess it doesn't matter much any more. She passed away very suddenly on November 7, 1999, the day after our younger son's 24th birthday. She had reached 55 that May 10; I never let her forget that she was 34 days older than I.

I don't believe she ever had a really easy day in her life. She was raised in poverty. She never slept well. (She insisted she never slept at all.) She fought a battle with her weight for years. She suffered adult-onset diabetes, which ultimately left her unable to work. And she could be a feisty, combative little person. On the day of her funeral, we decided that she was already in Heaven, demanding a full refund.

Eileen grew up in a world where you had to fight every day for your very existence. Nobody ever handed her anything. My own youth, while certainly not affluent, was certainly comfortable, compared to hers. Maybe that's why I never understood her very well. It seemed to me that sometimes she fought for no particular reason. But if you were family, or a friend (and she had many friends), she would fight like a tigress for you.

The childhood dream of a happy family living in a vine-covered bi-level never became a reality. But she overcame her bitter disappointment and found a measure of joy in little things. She bought herself a little purple car (she called it "the grape"), and I'll never forget the happiness and pride in her voice when she told me about it. She and her "grape" covered a lot of ground together. They also got a few speeding tickets together. I always told her that her feet were small but heavy.

Eileen was an imperfect person, as we all must be. But she never intentionally hurt another living soul in her life, and you can't say that about a lot of us. I was proud to make her my wife, but I was absolutely honored to have her as a friend. These pages are a symbol of love and respect. Please join us in paying tribute to a remarkable woman who left us far too soon.