There are some people who seem larger than life.
They fill every room they walk into.
They demand attention.
They tell the loudest stories.
They leave behind accomplishments everyone remembers.
Colleen was not one of those people.
She lived a quieter life.
She was not interested in being the center of attention.
She was not the loudest voice at family gatherings.
She certainly was not the richest.
Like many people, she spent much of her life simply trying to make the best of what she had.
She knew how to stretch a dollar farther than most people I have ever known.
Coupons were not just something she clipped.
They were part of how she took care of her family.
She could make very little go a long way.
Not because she enjoyed having less.
Because life often demanded it.
Looking back, I think the word that describes Colleen best is caregiver.
Some people are simply wired that way.
They find purpose in taking care of others.
That was Colleen.
My brother Tim was the fourth child in our family.
Life dealt him challenges that many people will never fully understand.
Through it all, Colleen stood beside him.
Marriage is not measured by the easy years.
It is measured by the difficult ones.
Colleen had more than her share of those.
She stayed.
She encouraged.
She loved.
She helped Tim build a life many people probably thought would never be possible.
I do not know if everyone appreciated just how much she meant to him.
I do.
Long before cancer entered the picture, Colleen had already changed the lives of people around her in ways she probably never realized.
When Christian was young, she watched him while I worked.
Somewhere along the way, she stopped being just Aunt Colleen.
She became another mother to him.
Children have a way of deciding for themselves who their safe people are.
Christian found one of those people in Colleen.
Years passed.
Christian grew up.
Life took all of us in different directions.
But love has a funny way of coming full circle.
When Colleen's health began to fail, Christian began taking her to doctor's appointments.
When the doctor told her she likely had only a few months left to live, Christian cried hard.
That did not surprise me.
He was not just facing the loss of an aunt.
He was facing the loss of someone who had helped raise him.
Christian and I are not on speaking terms right now.
We had a blowout, and things between us remain unresolved.
But none of that changes how I feel about what he has done for Colleen.
I am incredibly happy he has been there for her.
Whatever differences exist between us, I am proud of the compassion he has shown her.
Lisa and Colleen also became incredibly close over the years.
I cannot honestly say exactly when it happened.
Friendships rarely have a beginning you can point to on a calendar.
They simply grow.
I suspect Lisa's years as a nurse gave her an understanding of what Colleen was going through that many of us did not have.
Medical appointments.
Treatments.
Test results.
Difficult conversations.
Lisa understood the language of all of it.
Maybe that made it easier for Colleen to talk to her.
Whatever the reason, they became much more than sisters-in-law.
They became true friends.
Watching someone you care about slowly lose a battle with cancer is one of the hardest things a family can experience.
What hurts me most is not only the thought of losing Colleen.
It is worrying about Tim.
For so many years, they were simply Tim and Colleen.
It is difficult to picture one without the other.
I hope the strength they built together over decades carries him through what lies ahead.
I hope our family surrounds him with the same love Colleen spent so many years giving to others.
Colleen made another decision that says something about who she was.
She chose to donate her body to science.
There will not be a traditional funeral.
There will not be a memorial service where people stand behind a podium and tell stories about her life.
That is what she wanted.
I respect her decision.
But I also could not let her story pass without saying something.
This chapter is my way of honoring her.
Not because she was perfect.
None of us are.
Not because everyone who knew her saw her the same way.
Families are complicated.
Every one of us remembers people through our own experiences.
This is simply how I remember Colleen.
I remember a woman who devoted herself to my brother.
I remember someone who quietly cared for people.
I remember a woman who became one of Lisa's closest friends.
I remember the aunt who became a second mother to my son.
Most of all, I remember someone whose life mattered far more than she probably ever realized.
The measure of a life is not found in the size of a bank account.
It is not found in the number of people who attend a funeral.
It is found in the lives that are better because you were here.
By that measure, Colleen lived a remarkable life.
Thank you, Colleen.
For loving my brother.
For loving my family.
For being there for Lisa.
For helping raise Christian.
For leaving your mark on all of us.
You will be missed.