From Joel:

I used to work as a doorman for an expensive, nine story condominium in Little Rock. I would wear a suit and tie, open doors, help with groceries, and everything else. One important duty was to put the morning newspaper at everyone's door by 6 in the morning. Sometimes residents would be awake to get the paper from me when I would exit the elevator.

One night I worked, the paper showed up at about 5am. Nothing seemed unusual. I got to the 8th floor, and Mrs. Johnston was standing in the hallway in a dark blue gown, smiling. She always seemed to be the happy type, so this was not unusual; however, her apartment door was closed, and she was in her gown.

I delivered half the papers on that floor, and as I walked by her I said, "Good morning ma'am."

She kept smiling, but seemed to stare past me. I delivered the other half of the floor's papers, turned towards the elevator, and she was gone. No door shut, opened, or anything, just gone.

Having been up all night, I assumed I was just sleepy. I found out the next day that Mrs. Johnston had died that night at a local hospital. She had been sick for a long time, and she wanted to die in her apartment overlooking the river, but her husband wanted her to have the best health care up to the very end.