Bill (Bim, William) James Eckerson departed for his next adventure on Friday, February 6, 2026. In true Bim fashion, he had already drafted his obituary.

“Today I died following an arduous but worthwhile 77 year battle with life which commenced January 18, 1949, in Great Falls, Montana. The good news is that I won. Can’t really think of any bad news! Despite all of the ups and downs, life has been good to me, and I am able to leave you with the best I knew in my wife Donna Mae, sons and daughters Keri and Tomas Maes, Kalli and Jerry Kind, Kurt and Hilde Routzahn, and Mikey and Kelley Eckerson. I leave all the mystery and wonder of my world to these wonderful people and especially Mikey and my grandchildren; Kaden (Shaelyn), Janie (Holden), Katie (Colton), Emilie (Sophia), Kenzie (Tristan), Evan and Elle, Ava and Ella, Haylie and Kim, and great-grandchildren RaeLee and Nyatha, Forrest, Neimiah, and Hayes “William” (Bim’s namesake).

My mom Teola Jackson, dad Bill Eckerson, and brothers Tom and Mike preceded me in death. My brother Doug and sister Joellen “Sissy” Clark survive, as well as numerous nieces, nephews, cousins, relatives, and friends.

Most of my life’s story is relevant only to me and family but I will have you know that I have been lucky and always in the right place at the right time. Life was a matter of attitude and perspective. If I ever had a bad day you can bet, I created it. I lucked out and missed the record cold Montana winter of 1968-69 by wintering in the tropical jungles of Vietnam. I avoided the pressure and stress of high achievers by not being one and I worked hard just so I could play a little harder. I trivialized the serious stuff and worried about the little things. I had a wonderful family who collectively allowed me to be a little off center. They watched me laugh and cry; they understood me and they let me make mistakes and pretended not to notice. They believed in me.

Anyone who cares was with me to the end and knows all about my family ties and history. Anything beyond that is just curiosity and will be just as quickly forgot as it was learned. If it was important to me….you were there and what more could I ask for.

Yep, it has been a good life and I have no complaints. There are some things I would change if I could but I can’t. So if you were wronged by me know that I am sorry and if I could, I would fix it. As for me, finally, at last, I can sleep….forever. I am grateful that it all ends here, where it started.

Cremation has taken place. There will be no memorial service.”

Bim, aka Bill, grandpa, grandpa with Lucky, Bompa, Boncha, Poppi, Pa, and old man. This is what shaped Bim and what he hoped would live on long after him. Family wasn’t just important to him it was the center of his world. Becoming a father, a grandfather, and eventually a great‑grandfather were the moments he cherished most, the milestones he held closest. His patience, his steady presence, and his unwavering support made him a quiet pillar everyone could lean on, a source of comfort and dependability that never faltered. He loved us deeply, and he made each of us feel uniquely cherished.

Bim married Donna in 1983, gaining a wife and a family. Keri, Kalli, and Kurt became his with the same devotion and immense pride he later felt when Mikey was born. Together, they built a home that held forty‑three years of laughter, traditions, and the kind of everyday moments that become the memories a family leans on. Their house wasn’t just a place to live; it was the heart of their story.

Long before that, as a young man, Bim had already shown the depth of his courage. He served his country in the U.S. Army during two tours in Vietnam (1966-69), carrying experiences that shaped him in ways he rarely spoke about. He served in the Montana National Guard (1970-72) and re-enlisted in the Army (1973-80) answering the call again with the same quiet sense of duty. When he arrived at his second boot camp at Fort Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma, he didn’t have to say a word, the three Purple Heart ribbons on his uniform spoke for him. They drew attention, respect, and a kind of reverence from those around him, a silent testament to what he had endured and the strength he carried. Bim re-enlisted in the Montana National Guard once again and served with dedication until his retirement in 1993.

After leaving military service, Bim continued his hardworking ways at the post office, where he stayed until his second and final retirement.

Bim had a way of filling every room with laughter. His sense of humor wasn’t just a trait, it was part of his soul. He loved sharing stories from his adventures, biking, rafting, and camping with the people he loved most, always finding a way to turn even the smallest mishap into a memory worth retelling. Some of his happiest moments were visiting with family, camping, kayaking, hiking to hidden lakes and waterfalls, trips to Coeur d’Alene, vacations in Kauai, or hosting his famous Polish Luau in the backyard oasis he and Donna poured their hearts into. Those times weren’t just activities to him, they were the threads that stitched his life together, moments he treasured deeply.

He taught his children and grandchildren to drive with his calm demeanor and quiet assurance he carried. He poured that same presence into every part of their lives. He cheered them on whether they were on the field, on a stage, in a classroom, or stepping into a new chapter of life. He showed up for it all, not out of obligation, but out of love because being there for them was one of his greatest joys. He savored tiny plates of pretend food from play kitchens, joined Barbie storylines without hesitation, created overnight tent campouts in the backyard, tinkered on vehicles with whoever wanted to learn, and offered his helping hand before anyone even had to ask. His humor threaded through all of it, turning simple moments into deeply cherished memories.

Bim wasn’t a man who filled the air with words, but when something truly mattered, he put pen to paper. His thoughts came to life in letters and cards, often paired with stick‑figure drawings he somehow managed to make expressive and full of motion. The words he wrote were deliberate, heartfelt, and honest, the kind of messages you read slowly and keep close. Those notes became treasures held onto for comfort, for encouragement, for the feeling of being loved by him. They were pieces of his heart.

Bim was grateful for the lifelong friendships he shared with Frank and Terrie Preite. He didn’t want to leave the people he loved, but he met what came next with quiet courage. He carried a deep certainty about heaven, shaped by a glimpse he’d been given as a young man. That knowing brought him peace, even as he held on tightly to the family he cherished.

We are deeply grateful to Bim’s hospice nurses and staff, especially Aleta and Karissa. Your genuine care, tenderness, and compassion for Bim, and for all of us, brought comfort during one of the hardest chapters of our lives. Your kindness will stay with us always.