Elizabeth Mills was my wife's visiting teacher for many years when we first moved into the Greensboro Summit Ward in North Carolina. She and her companion came faithfully every month, with well-prepared messages and comfortable conversation.

But assignments change, and years pass. We came home from vacation and heard the news from someone we home teach, Sister Brown, who was providing professional in-home nursing care for Sister Mills: She had passed away.

Brother Mills had died only a few months before, and my wife, Kristine, had meant to talk with her then, but our lives were crazy at the time, and the opportunity kept receding. Now it was gone.

At least Kristine would go to the funeral of this faithful sister. It was not an LDS funeral. Only one of Sister Mills' children had joined the church; the others hired a Protestant minister who did not know her to say a few words at graveside.

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