winifred mae shane 1920–2010
My sister called quite somewhat unexpectedly one day from Chula Vista, CA and said, “You’d better get out here. This is going to happen pretty fast.” I headed out on the first available flight the next morning and arrived on the front step at 12:15 p.m. Mom was sleeping in the bed hospice had provided in the family room, so I leaned over, kissed her on the cheek and said softly, “It’s okay, Mom. Your favorite son is here. You can go see Jesus.” I went to the kitchen to get some coffee and chat with my sister for a minute. When I went back in to sit with Mom, she had done just that. I still believe this lovely lady was just waiting for me to get home to her so we could both say good-bye.