Phyllis Ann Harman

Her early life wasn't easy. Born June 24, 1932 in the heart of the Great Depression, her family moved often as her father searched for work. Before long, her mother, then well into her late 30s, also entered the workforce.

For her parents, no matter how difficult the time, the notion of taking public assistance - a handout - was unthinkable. Phyllis never forgot that work ethic.

Three days after her 9th birthday, she witnessed a most horrific scene - the death of her younger brother, John Joseph (J.J.), who was hit by a car as the two played near their home.

For the remainder of her life, she rarely mentioned it.

Like her parents, several of her aunts and uncles had migrated to California from the Midwest. Despite repeatedly relocating within Southern California, the one constant in her youth was her cousins, with whom she formed a lifelong bond. In all, she had more than 25 first cousins.

War followed Depression; life didn't get easier or more prosperous. December 7, 1941 began with a painful reminder of loss: it would have been J.J's sixth birthday, the first since his death. That morning came word of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

A year later, a younger sister was born, one for whom Phyllis - 10 years her senior - was more mentor than playmate.

Despite changing schools frequently, Phyllis did well in her studies and made friends easily. She worked during her high school years - sold tickets at the local movie theatre, made beds at the hospital. Both fit her profile: she was honest, good with figures and had a penchant for neatness.

College, in her circumstance, was not an option. Following graduation from high school, she worked to help her family and watched over her younger sister.

In October 1955, her life took a permanent turn when she gave birth to her only child. She named him Don (he was almost "Ted") and from that point forward, his well-being was the focus of her life.

Phyllis went to work fulltime soon after Don's birth and stayed with the same company until she retired 36 years later.

Though never stated, it was clear she wanted his life to be better and easier than hers had been, with more stability and opportunity than she had had. She sacrificed her social life and personal, short-term enjoyment for his long-term benefit.

As her son grew, she provided him first with example, then counsel, then support, and, always, love.

Don was in the same school system from third grade through community college. He gravitated toward sports, a passion Phyllis shared. For his high school graduation, she sent him on a cross-country tour with 40 other high school-age students.

When he graduated high school, NOT going to college was not an option.

Phyllis bought her first home in her early 40s. Home buying was a risk her parents could not take, but one she was willing to try. Be it good fortune or shrewd timing, she purchased at the right time. A few years later, she used the profits from the first house to buy a larger (two bathrooms!) home.

From 1976 until her retirement in 1992, and for 12 years after, she traveled, another opportunity her parents did not have -but one Phyllis wanted for her son. They often traveled together. From "turnaround" trips to Las Vegas to week-long international or domestic vacations, she succeeded in expanding life's experiences for her and Don.

Her favorite people were the Irish, but her favorite trip was to Israel. Closer to home, she loved the gentility of the Deep South, appreciated the American story that unfolded in New England, and enjoyed the majesty of Big Sky country and the rugged beauty of Alaska.

In fall 1976 she took her first college course. Phyllis was working in Los Angeles then, making the 1-hour commute by bus. Evening classes - in person - were then the only option. Upon coming home, she'd grab a quick bite, change clothes, and off to the local community college she'd go.

She enjoyed the challenge of her first class - beginning accounting - and took satisfaction from mastering it. For the next five years, she took one or two classes each semester. Always at night, always following work days. She completed her Associate of Arts degree requirements in spring 1981 with a 3.38 grade point average - enough to be designated as "high honors" in the commencement program.

She loved Sinatra and Elvis and Thoroughbred horse racing, always had at least one cat in her household, rooted for Notre Dame and the Boston Celtics, and thought Pete Rose got a raw deal. Phyllis was a law-and-order conservative, but found fascinating the self-destructive stories of 1960s rockers Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, and read every "true-life" murder mystery she could find.

Phyllis was quiet and modest, and lived that way in retirement. A thief would be disappointed - she didn't indulge in fancy furniture, expensive jewelry, fine clothes or the latest electronic gadgets. She never forgot the struggles of her youth, and was satisfied with having enough to be comfortable.

While she was able, Phyllis volunteered at the local animal shelter and twice "fostered" dogs that were transitioning from being "unwanted" to a permanent, loving home. Few things depressed her as much as seeing a loose or deceased dog or cat in the street.

Her younger sister died in 2005. Her cousins were passing too; each time, her spirits would sink.

She abhorred funerals and made her son promise not to make her the subject of a public memorial. Always organized, Phyllis left him detailed notes of what do when the time came, and even when she was in physical decline never lost her sense of humor. When she fell two months prior to her passing and broke her hip, and was being taken to an ambulance, she looked up at Don and said, "There goes your inheritance."

Most of his working life, her son has made his living via the written word. Whether one person or 1 million people read this online eulogy is irrelevant. It's the most important thing he'll ever write.

It's the last gift he can give his selfless, devoted, loving mom, whose passing leaves an irreparable hole in his heart.