In July 1988 an attractive, petite woman walked into my office in Noyes Lab and told me she had heard we were looking for a VAX/VMS programmer. We were, and after the recruiting/hiring process had run its course a few months later, Pia and I quickly became close co-workers and the best of good friends.

To know Pia was to love her. This saying may seem trite at times, but in Pia's case it resonates with truth, just as she herself resonated with joy and love, day in and day out, towards all with whom she came into contact. Pia treated the shy and uncertain undergraduate student with the same caring attention as she did the demanding and tenured professor. That was Pia.

We learned a lot from each other. I, the tall, stoic thinker of German ancestry, and Pia, the petite, vivacious native Italian. Our temperaments were so contrasting, and this showed too in our problem-solving techniques on the job. Typically Pia would want to read the manuals systematically and to proceed step by careful step. I would be impatient and wish to experiment and figure out the solution ourselves. Although we were so different, we always respected our differences, and learned from them. That too was Pia.

When Pia walked into the room, people immediately cheered up. When Pia smiled, people smiled with her. When Pia was happy, others couldn't help but also to feel happy. And to make Pia laugh, ah, that was the best, and I have to admit to resorting to silliness at times in my desire to achieve that goal. That too was Pia.

Pia and I got into the happy routine of walking down to the Espresso Royale at Oregon and Goodwin at mid-morning to have a cappuccino, and sometimes too a poppyseed muffin which we would heat in the microwave. It wasn't fair that we would take turns paying but that Pia would always have a single cappuccino whereas I always had a double. When I pointed this out, Pia would laugh and say it didn't matter. And it didn't. People were what mattered. That was Pia.

She always asked for her cappuccino with "extra foam" or else "extra milk". And then she would pour heaping teaspoons of sugar into it. Sometimes I'd pretend to be shocked at how much sugar she used. Just to make Pia laugh. To see Pia happy was to be happy.

Often we would talk about work-related issues over our cappuccinos. I would joke that it was our "high-level meeting", but sometimes it was. Other times we would talk about our families, our friends, our ups and downs. Or we might talk about what we believed in, our outlook on life. Whatever it felt right to talk about that day. I remember once our advisor, with whom we were both friends, upon hearing about our daily cappuccino meetings, made the remark, "How very civilized." And it was. It was a people thing. And people are what's important. That was Pia.

No matter what problems we faced at work, Pia wouldn't get upset, never was down, never would panic or give in to fear. I know that at times she would take comfort from my confident technical expertise, and although Pia herself was an excellent computer programmer, I wonder if she ever knew how much comfort I also took from her unfailing sunny optimism, from her simple conviction that things will always turn out okay in the end. And they always did. That was Pia.

Through Pia, I became acquainted with her family, so dear to her: Enrico, her beloved husband, Claudio and Fabio, her handsome and talented sons, and Valentina, her charming daughter. I've met them only a few times really, but through Pia, I feel I have known and cared about them for a long time. And some years back, when I needed to be in Austria for a week but had no one to care for my three young sons, Pia insisted upon taking them into their home and looking after them, driving them across town to school, and all else, so I could make the trip she knew was so important to me. That was Pia.

After having been privileged to work with Pia for 6 years on a daily basis, the time came when she and her family left for one year due to Enrico's sabbatical leave from the university. That was a hard year. And although the two new employees in our computer center, Laura and Darlene, did their best to learn the countless things that needed to be done, I'm sure that I got on their nerves with my frequent bemoaning of Pia's absence. But they were and are troopers, and I am very grateful that they too finally got to work together with Pia when she returned this past August. We made a good team, the four of us. And although they had only worked with Pia for those few months, they too could not hold back their tears at times during those first awful days nor after the memorial service at St. Patrick's. To know Pia was to love her.

Speaking of the memorial service, I doubt that anyone who listened to Enrico that day will ever forget what they heard. The emotion in Enrico's voice was riveting and electrifying. Before the service Enrico asked me if I wished to say something about Pia, but I felt I could not. I don't know how Enrico did it, but I was glad I had not intruded that day. That day and that hour belonged to Enrico and to Pia, and I knew then, as I had never known before, what a great love the two of them had for one another. It was mighty beyond words. No one who heard and experienced the tremendous depth of Enrico's love for Pia can ever forget it. Never in a thousand years. What a man! What a love! There could not have been a more fitting tribute to Pia than Enrico's outpouring of love. That was Pia.

The simple loving act on the part of each person present, as we slowly filed past and laid our single red roses upon the casket, before the beautiful, flower-bedecked photograph of Pia, expressed exactly what we all felt, and still feel in our hearts for Pia. Sometimes words are too limited. Pia knew this.

On the morning of Tuesday, October 31, I remember standing in Laura and Darlene's office chatting with them, when Pia came in and joined the talk. Something about Pia that morning caught my attention. There was something different about her. She seemed happy in a way I had not seen before. It was as though she was freed of some burden she had been carrying. I don't know if it was my imagination, but she struck me then as so innocent and so childlike, that it left a lasting impression. I can still see that image of Pia in my mind's eye. I shall carry it with me always.

Around noon we walked to Espresso Royale for a cappuccino and muffin, as we had not gone earlier that day, nor at all the day before. I don't remember what it was we talked about that day, but I do know that we took pleasure in each other's company, in simply being good friends. That could never change.

Later on, around 4:00, I felt the desire for a cup of regular coffee. That was different, as I normally never go for coffee that late in the day. I had decided to run over to the Union, which is close to Noyes Lab, but on the way down the hall, something made me stop and stick my head in Pia's door to tell her what I was doing. She asked me then if I would bring her a decaf cappuccino, and so I changed my plan and jogged the extra distance down to Espresso Royale to do that for Pia. I didn't think twice about it, as I was always happy to do a favor for Pia.

An hour later, despite several of the computer systems being down, we both left work, in a hurry to get home because of Halloween. Pia was planning to take Valentina trick-or-treating in the costume she had made her. We didn't leave together as we normally would have, as Pia was in too much of a hurry to wait an extra minute for me to finish something. Pia was a brave person. I doubt she ever knew fear, as her unshakable faith in the inherent goodness of life would not permit her to be afraid, yet she was also a careful person. She would never knowingly place herself into a dangerous situation, that is my firm conviction. But she would try to help someone if she could.

As I was going to my car in the lot behind Davenport Hall, I looked across the street and saw Pia walking there. Despite the semi-darkness that had already fallen I could still see it was Pia. That parting glimpse of Pia in the early evening darkness was the last time I would see her alive.

At 5:20 the next morning, I received a call from the University Police, telling me the news that still seems unbelievable. That Pia's body had been found in a building on campus. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't at first. My heart goes out to her family, and to her many friends. What a loss it was!

But, let me tell you a great secret: Pia is not dead. Pia could not be dead. Her physical body, sadly, yes. But Pia herself, her lively, caring, giving, joyful, loving spirit: never. Nope. Not possible. No way. Uh uh. No chance.

Some might want to say this is wishful thinking, fantasy, religious dogma. But it's not. It's Pia. And it's all of us. It's spirit. It's what we are.

A deranged person could hurt Pia's physical body, but he couldn't touch her spirit. Pia is as alive now as she ever was. She herself is just as real, even though we cannot see her with our earthly eyes. This is the secret of Easter. And this is Pia's secret.

The next night, in my home, in my sorrow, Pia was for a few moments there. She told me her secret, that she still lives, and that she loves us all. And that this will never change.

I know now, that whenever those who love Pia and whom she loves are in need of her help, of her loving touch, she will be there to help them, to comfort them. And if they are open to it, they will feel Pia's nearness, they will feel her comforting words deeply in their hearts. She will always be there when they need her. That was Pia, and that is Pia.

Dear Pia, may you find your way upward to the Light! Love, your friend, Mark.