The first time I ever saw Eve, she was laying down on a blue picnic blanket that convered a smooth cement floor. She was holding a bundle of pink and purple balloons resting her head on a bright polka-dotted pillow and staring up at the clear blue sky. Her image printed itself onto my heart. I walked up to talk to her and looked down and her dark brown eyes looking up at me. I asked her what she was doing. She took such a long time to answer my question that I was afraid I'd offended her.

When she finally spoke up, her voice was thoughtful. She told me that the balloons reminded her that she was free to have dreams and when I said that I didn't think concrete walls made for a very inspiring dream space, she just closed her eyes, smiled and said that the dark walls reminded her of what her dream was: to show everyone the beauty of having a dream.

Today I am standing at her grave, fifty-three years later with a bundle of pink and purple balloons in my hand.

Eve, you have your dream: you gave me mine on our wedding day. I had you for fifty years, and now you can go dream with the angels. Who knows? Maybe they even have balloons in heaven.