Irene was my sister. As young adults, we enjoyed an unexpected argument over which of us, as a child, had felt the family responsibility of looking after the other one. I’ll also remember that Irene had the rare ability to apply keen objective insight. She was a sly observer to whom one could choose to listen carefully. But she could be tripped up by her strong emotions. She suffered the hurts of extreme shyness, but she was stubborn, and she made heroic efforts to be dutiful to her family and to others. She enjoyed simple pleasures. She was a listener. She was my favorite person to chat with about nothing in particular. I’ll miss her every day.
