Stonington – It was during a trip downstate to cover a game a few years ago that she popped back into my head. I saw a road sign for “Wilton,” her hometown. I was awash in memories for the next several miles.

Because you never forget your first love.

So I decided, in this age of social media, to find her. Just to say hi. Been a long time. Married? Kids? Career? Remember that night when we …

And that’s when I learned of her death.

At age 30.

Of breast cancer.

In December of 1999.

I never knew.

Kirsten Lynn Frankenhoff.

The first girl I ever fell for.

I read her obituary and wept.

I still do on occasion.

I am now.

I have never shared this with anybody else. Except her parents. And I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, in such a public forum, other than the timeliness of the day.

It was “Play 4 The Cure” day again in Stonington, the annual high school softball game between Stonington and Waterford. They play to honor everyone touched by cancer, which is to say they are playing for everyone. We all know someone.

The game originated a few years ago, the brainchild of Stonington coach Ann-Marie Houle and former Waterford coach Liz Sutman, both of whom have lost loved ones to cancer. This began in tribute to former Stonington great Lisa Wentz, for whom a prestigious scholarship is named, who graduated in 1988 and died in 1990, and Marissa Walker of Waterford, Sutman's niece, who is 17 now, a softball player and cancer survivor, battling it since she was 9.

I came across an old column about this game and this wonderful quote from the great Mike O’Farrell, the public relations poohbah at Lawrence + Memorial Hospital, but more importantly, a close friend of Wentz. Sayeth Mike: “This is not about remembering her as much as it is sharing her.”

I’d like to share Kirsten with you.

She was the first girl I ever knew who told dirtier jokes than I did. She laughed at all them, too. Swore like an offended motorist. She would refer to herself as “damn cute.” Which she was. My roommates and friends needled me mercilessly about my crush on her. And it was a crush the size of Shaquille O’Neal. Remember: I went to an all-boys high school, thus making my experiences with the opposite sex to that point, you know, limited.

I can’t tell you how many times I’d get home from class and see a note, “Kirsten called.” Which she didn’t, of course. So I’d call her back. She’d be confused. I’d get irritated. She’d laugh at the joke. My roommates, trying to keep a straight face while I stammered through the conversation, eventually broke up laughing. Rinse. Repeat.

Sadly, I was relegated to the dreaded “friend zone” in this relationship. Not that we weren’t really good friends — we were — but no matter how hard I ran to first base, if you catch my drift, the shortstop would suddenly become Ozzie Smith.

Sigh.

She transferred after her sophomore year. We lost touch. But I never forgot her. Her qualities are qualities I look for now in women: smart, sassy, sarcastic, substantive, swearing.

When I learned of her death, I wrote a note to her mom and dad. This is what, in part, they wrote back:

“We know what a good friend you were to Kirsten and it warms our hearts to know how much you cared for her. Her battle with breast cancer lasted two years and toward the end she was in a great deal of pain. But she never complained and always had a smile on her face.

“We are so glad you remember her for her smile and her sense of humor. She gave us 30 beautiful years and we will be forever grateful that she was part of our lives. We are very glad that you are writing columns about breast cancer awareness. We pray that someday soon, there will be a cure.”

I haven’t viewed cancer the same way since. Maybe Sutman said it best when she told her team a few years ago, “We can do this today because we can. And we're going to do this for those who can't, or can't anymore or won't be able to.”

Kirsten won’t be able to. But her memory burns in my soul every day. And that’s why, in my own little world, Wednesday’s game was for her. Many thanks to the Bears and Lancers for all they did. And do. And for the rest of us doing what we can.

I believe in faith more than I believe in anything else.

Faith is our lifeline.

I have faith that one day, the cure will save the next Kirsten.

Making some guy really, really happy.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro