Dear (Wink) Winnie, How can life ever be the same without you? I find it impossible to imagine and my instinct is still to turn to you for your assurance that things will be ok. Even though you were my “little” sister you were forever my confidence builder. You may be surprised to learn that you weren’t such a treasure when you arrived at our house. At 13, I was too busy being a teenager to be troubled with the cares of a squalling infant. On the other hand, thank God, Nan was delighted and lovingly tucked you under her wing like a new young mother. We did enjoy you as a pair of teenaged mothers, although Nan would tell the more loving stories. We loved to “beautify” you with shampoos, bubble bath and perms – homemade dresses. One lady who lived at our house worried persistently that we were drowning you in the bath tub. You survived, remained beautified and toughened for the experience. I’m not really sure where your “Wink” name came from. I know that your sisters must have been guilty and that it must have been a derivative of either Wynken Blynken and Nod or Wee Willie Winkie. Whichever, it was sturdy and well-worn and lasted forever. My undying devotion to you as an adult dropped into my collection of life’s blessings during the summer Joey and I spent in Shakopee while Stan was in Washington. You and I became roommates and best friends. You were 13 and I was feeling a little motherly – decided it would be kind of me to point out some of the difficulties of living with a father who was a rigid disciplinarian. We, the older generation, held him in fear and awe and you, the younger, were fearless. Good example – when you were just a little girl you were scolded for some impropriety at the table and merrily replied with a little song – “Daddy-o – sure good lookin’. Daddy-o – whatcha’ got cookin’?” Not too popular especially when the older generation choked with poorly disguised laughter. Anyway – I felt it to be my sisterly duty to explain gently our dad’s concept of fatherhood. It took me quite a while to somehow prepare you and also to preserve his dignity - I thought I’d done a pretty good job. Your reply “Didn’t you know that, Ellen?” From that moment on it was you who shared your wisdom with me. Thank you forever. Our children – your nieces and nephews, grew up in a beautiful, unique situation with their unmarried aunt who had summer vacations. You would sometimes spend several months with us and I know those were the happiest times of their childhoods. You loved, loved, loved kids and they thrived on that love. One of my kids has even said that she always thought she had two mothers – that would be you – the loving one. This deep love between aunt and nieces and nephews continued right on through the next generation and those New York vacations you treated them to are the highlights of their young lives. Thank you so much. How can I say enough about you? In your wisdom and humor you’d say – “You know you can’t.” So – let’s try – Life is measured by how much you lived, loved and enjoyed it. I look at you and see someone who fulfilled all qualifications and I can even add a few more dimensions. How about boundless compassion? Everyone was welcome at your home and, at times, when the need arose, that welcome visit might last for years. That work lives on forever through all those you’ve helped. Just a few weeks ago you and I had a little discussion on the subject where you were in wonder that you had so many, many caring loving friends. I hope it makes sense now – it does to me. I love you. I miss you so much but at the same time I realize how blessed I am to have been in your life and l know without doubt that you have left earth a better place for all of us.