In February 2012, my mom, my sister Mickie and my cousin Mary Kenny from Seattle had flown into Detroit for my Uncle Frank’s memorial service. Winnie was also able to attend since she was doing extraordinarily well after her successful chemotherapy treatments. Since Winnie was flying in at the same time, we were renting a car at the airport and were then going to pick her up at the terminal that she flew into. As we reached the rental car place, I got a call from Winnie’s cell phone. She said that she had arrived and a nice young man was going to push her across the airport in a wheel chair to the pickup area. She told me that when she was closer to this area, she would call me so she could give me specific directions to get to the terminal. We got the rental car, packed our stuff in and got pointed in the right direction by the rental car attendants. I then received a call from Winnie’s phone. By this time, I was trying to drive an unfamiliar car in an unfamiliar area. I had a crew of people in the car (possibly all directionally challenged) giving me advice. I was having a terrible time hearing and concentrating on where I was going so I told her that I’d call her back. I pulled over into a little alcove where, as I recall, I was blocking someone trying to get into the driveway. I called Winnie’s phone and another voice answered it, presumably her helper who was pushing her across the airport. I assumed he knew the directions better than Winnie so I asked him for directions to the terminal. He kept saying something like “look for the sign to the Noach terminal.” I wasn’t sure what he was saying and asked him to repeat it. He said “the Noach terminal: N-O-A-C-H.” I then repeated “N-O-A-C-H, Noach terminal” and he confirmed that was correct. After heading down the road a little further,I saw a sign for the “North Terminal” and finally realized it was the North Terminal (not the Noach terminal) that he was directing me to. Fortunately, we did make it to the terminal and Winnie was patiently waiting there with her helper. We got Winnie and her stuff loaded into the car and as we drove to the hotel, I was laughing about having such a hard time understanding her helper. Winnie burst into laughter (as only Winnie can) and said that wasn’t my helper, that was me giving you directions. After all these years, my Minnesota ears still had trouble translating Winnie’s New York accent. Funnier yet, that I thought I was talking to a man. Winnie always told me that the “ditzy gene” runs in the family, and for some reason (I’m not sure why) she thinks that I’ve got it. Thanks Winnie! Our trip to Detroit was the last time I saw Winnie. She looked incredible and was feeling amazingly well. It was so special to have that last opportunity to spend with my wonderful New York aunt. Love, Ann