One of my mother’s nurses at Holy Name of Jesus Hospital in Gadsden, Alabama, was a 20-year-old woman named Mary Sigrest Harrison. A few

days before Mother died, in June 1947, Ms. Harrison stopped by her room while my 21-year-old brother, John F. Stith Jr., was visiting. Mother introduced them.

“Mary, this is John,” Mother said. “John, this is Mary. Take her or leave her.”
And John replied, “I’ll take her.”
John and Mary went on their first date, to a movie, on June 22, 1947. They were married one year later, to the day, and stayed married until John’s death on March 1, 1987, almost 40 years later.
Coming Friday: Where Does It End?