My name is Katie Hearn, and I’m Evie’s older sister. We were born 11 years apart, so she was like my first real-life baby.

Erik has spoken about Evie as a grown woman, wife, mother, entrepreneur, and world traveler. I’m going to talk about Evie as a child and a young adult.

As I mentioned, I thought of Evie as my baby. I took care of her, played with her and sometimes took her to the grocery store. One day, our mother asked me to pick up some groceries and would I take Evie along. I was 16, and she was 5.

Evie sat in the grocery cart’s child seat, which was right up front. As we went up and down the aisles, Evie and I chatted. Evie loved to go to the grocery store.

When we got to the check-out lines which were very crowded, she noticed candy bars on the shelf nearby and immediately asked for one. I said, no.  I would have gotten in trouble with my mom for that purchase. My mother was a 1960’s health food fanatic.

As I began putting the lettuce, tomatoes, string beans and carrots on the counter, Evie, said distinctly and loudly, “Mommy, can we get some milk? We never have milk. Please.”

I turned and scowled at her, saying, I’m not your mother.” And she retorted again more loudly, “Yes, you are, Mommy. You always say that. You are my mother.”

The check-out woman looked at me with total disgust; the other women in lines all around us were giving me looks of great disapproval. I could feel them thinking – ‘Another teenage mother who doesn’t know how to take care of her child.

And – even denies being her mother.’

I hustled out of the grocery as quickly as I could, taking Evie by the hand and scolding her as we walked across the parking lot to our car. When we arrived home a few minutes later, I stormed into the house, a furious, embarrassed teenager, calling “Mom, Mom, Evie called me mommy in the grocery store check-out line, and everyone stared and gave me dirty looks. And then when I said, I’m not your mother, she called out louder that I always say I’m not her mother when I really am. I’m never taking her to the store again!! Never! But I did — a few weeks later. And she didn’t call me Mommy, and I bought her a chocolate bar. We didn’t tell our mother.

As you all know, Evie is/was a beautiful strong, joyful person who loved life and people. She was funny, she was kind, generous, brave, and an amazing problem solver. She was also charming and resolute when faced with challenges.

When we were on a sisters-only trip to Tuscany and Umbria in the 1990’s, we got lost everywhere we tried to go in our rental car. We often stopped to ask for directions in our few horrific words of Italian. The person always smiled and answered in fast paced Italian using their arms and pointing this way or that. And we looked back at them with faces of complete comprehension. We were great actors. As we drove off, we’d turned to one another and asked, “Did you understand what they said?’’ Then we’d burst out laughing, saying at the same time, “NO, not one word.”

One day, we ended up at the entrance to a toll road, a row of toll booths straight ahead. Oh no, we knew this was very wrong. I was driving.

Evie, said, “Make a U turn.” I said, “But there’s a police officer in the middle. I can’t do that.”  “Sure, you can,” Evie said, “Just go.”

 So, I did. And immediately the policeman stopped us. He walked over to the car and told us quite forcefully in Italian that we may NOT turn around.  Evie leaned over me. I was afraid. In the US, you don’t confront the police.

Evie looked straight into the policeman’s face and said very assertively, ‘We must turn around. We must.”

 The policeman kept saying ‘No”, and many other words besides. And Evie leaning across me kept saying over and over, “We must turn around!”

 After 4 or 5 back and forths, the policeman suddenly changed his tone, smiled and waved us on to make the U turn. I was shocked. This would never happen at home. Evie looked at me and said, “You can’t give up. If you keep saying it long enough, they give in.”

So here we are today, celebrating dear Evie’s glorious life. She was my baby, my friend, my confidante, my sister, my model of courage and perseverance, and my partner in laughter. She has flown, and we are here saying, we will miss you sorely.