Tillie

Just after the turn of the twentieth century, a beautiful little Spanish/Irish girl named Tillie quit school went to work in a grocery store to help support her family. Long, dark, curly hair, an hourglass figure, big brown eyes, and a quick wit caught the eye of the store manager. He was smitten.
Very young, and either feining no interest or having none, intelligent, polite little Tillie did her job efficiently, leaving Clyde the store manager little need to interact. Patiently, over the years, little by little he made his feelings known, until finally Tillie accepted his proposal of marriage.
Over the next fifteen years, Tillie bore four children - a boy, and three beautiful girls. Tillie and Clyde were deeply in love.
In the early 1930's, Clyde died, and Tillie, with a broken heart, little education, and in the depth of the Great Depression, marched off to work for the Farmers and Merchants Bank in Los Angeles. Over the years, she raised her children, buried one of her daughters, raised a few of her grandchildren, bought a home, and made many friends, but the cheerful, beautiful little Spanish/Irish girl never remarried.
Not that there weren't suitors.
When little Tillie died in 1980, at 89 years old, her last conversation with me was filled with optimism and happiness. She was a devout Catholic who had no fear of dying. "I miss my husband," she said, smiling and patting my hand.
Tillie was my sweet little Meema, who taught me to tell time, tie my shoes, say my prayers, read, write and speak English properly. She read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica to me before I started kindegarten, and told me that I was the smartest little girl in the world when I knew a Mandrill was a monkey with a blue butt. She was the light of my life from my first memories.
Clyde was a very lucky guy.