She had been swept up to heaven on a hot August day. Her spirit left her body at the roadside, by a mangle of metal. I think she must have paused on the way up to peek in on her son and his little family in the clouds. She had driven us to the Saginaw Airport before the sun rose through the Michigan misty morning; embraced us at the gate; kissed the cheeks of each of her grandchildren; stood at the large spanse of window separating us from her as we walked out to the plane; stood and waved until we were in the air. I still see the picture of her waving as we lifted up and drifted away. She never made it back to her cottage.