When we knew her, Althea was the oldest member of our
congregation. She and her husband had moved here to be closer to family, but by
the time we met she was a widow. She never missed an opportunity to share her
testimony of the gospel, though her steps, her voice and sometimes her memory
would fail her. She attended church whenever her health permitted. She always
made a point of greeting my daughter and me. She would ask Heather how she was
and listen patiently to the answer, though I’m convinced she never understood a word.
Althea passed away a few months ago, and her service took place too far away
for us to attend. Then last month one of her daughters spoke in stake
conference. She talked about her mother and how much our little ward meant to her. Until
that moment, I never realized how much I’d missed the closure of a funeral.
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