"Buckle your seat belt, Bucky, it's time for a ride."

Those words were repeated many times, especially on Sunday afternoons by my sister, Monica Narr. After working all week, the one thing Moni loved to do was explore, and explore we did!

Many times we just rode out to the old airport, got ice cream and watched the planes fly in and out -- a relaxing hour or so dreaming of places near and far that held memories or adventures yet achieved.

Growing up on Beaver Avenue on the North Side, Moni enjoyed the simpler life of the 1950s, and her beautiful smile and positive attitude radiated through the tough times to come.

In the late '50s my family was in a horrendous auto accident and Moni took the brunt of the trauma, going headfirst through the windshield. She had to endure six-plus operations on her face and head. Yet she never complained, according to our parents.

Although she healed, she lost her tear ducts and her eyes always "leaked." She endured horrible teasing throughout high school, after the family moved to Glendale. Still, Moni smiled and continued to move toward her goal of "seeing the world."

In 1972 she wrote a letter to the Pirates telling them how much she loved the team and wanted to work for them. Her writing skills and desire caught the eye of management and she was hired in 1973, becoming assistant ticket manager.

Her love of her profession and the Pirates literally saved her life. In 1974 she wasn't feeling well but, because of a big homestand, decided she'd better "work through" the flu. Fifteen minutes after she got to Three Rivers Stadium, she got a call that a gas explosion had blown up her apartment. The brunt of the explosion went through her bedroom.

Even though she lost everything, her positive outlook said, "It's OK, time to move forward!"

During her 15 years with the Pirates, Moni enjoyed many road trips with the team and used all of her time off to travel, explore and continue to absorb different cultures and people. All the while she endured knee surgeries and a back surgery that would have made anyone cringe, but not my sister.

During the late '80s and 1990s she worked as a computer trainer/installer for the Sacramento Kings and at Carnegie Hall in New York. Thanks to her travels, I was able to see the country with her.

Exciting worlds opened to her, but her real love and passion was the City of Champions, her home, Pittsburgh, Pa. We moved into an apartment in Mt. Lebanon and, eventually, Crafton.

Monica had a second back operation in 1997 and her mobility was diminished, yet she continued to work, volunteer and go on our rides. In 1999 she went to work and felt like she had the flu. Within hours she was rushed to the hospital and then life-flighted to UPMC Presbyterian, where she was in a coma.

She would never walk or see again. She was given only a 10 percent chance of survival, but Moni's positive attitude pulled her through during five months in the hospital.

All of the health professionals advised to "put her in a facility," but with her mind intact and her spirit willing we came home to live and, as she would say, "Show them what we can do, Bucky!"

Since 2000, Moni thrived from her bed. As hard as it was for her, you'd never know she was disabled. In fact, her faith seemed to get stronger throughout all of those setbacks.

Moni inspired so many. Her favorite thing was to write letters or submit stories to the Post-Gazette. I can still hear her say, "Time for you to type a letter to the editor for me please, Bucky." And letters or e-mails to soldiers provided her the chance to spread her love, positive outlook and support.

The last 10 years were very hard emotionally and financially, along with the infections and other issues, yet Monica always told me, "Bucky, remember how good we have it and how so many people have it so much worse. I thank God for each day he gives us together."

After three more months in the hospital last year, Monica got ready for her Final Ride at age 59. When she was battling sepsis as she had 10 years before, I was sure she would pull through again. But on Dec. 11, 2009, with me holding her hand, and our dear friend Ellen and our special Dr. Laurie at her bedside, Moni smiled and mouthed a last few words.

I believe she said, "Love you. ... Wow, what a ride!"

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