Heaven Holds Her, Our Hearts Hold the Rest

Sarah (Sally) Jane Shultis

August 22, 1953 – December 4, 2022

Lived 69 years

Calvary cemetery · Glenmont, Ny

We are her legacy—each of us a piece of her heart still walking this world. Her strength is in our voices. Her kindness, in our hands.

Life story

Beloved mother, grandmother, sister, and friend.

She was the strength of our family—the one we all turned to, the one who always made room for more. With a heart as big as her hugs and a spirit that never wavered, she taught us to love hard, work harder, and always show up for those we care about.

She raised her children with fierce love and unwavering loyalty, and her grandchildren brought out a new kind of joy in her—a softer, sillier kind, full of laughter and snuggles.

She had a way of making everyone feel safe and seen. She loved her coffee strong, her family close, and her music just loud enough to dance in the kitchen.

Though she’s no longer here in body, her love surrounds us every day—in the way we care for each other, in the values she passed down, and in the memories we hold tight.

She is missed beyond words. But oh, how deeply she is loved.

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Lifetime

The world Sarah knew

Family milestones in gold, history for context

1953

Born August 22

1959

Sarah was 6 when Barbie made her debut

1969

Sarah was 16 when the Woodstock music festival opened

1971

Sarah was 18 when Walt Disney World opened in Florida

1982

Sarah was 29 when Michael Jackson released "Thriller"

1994

Sarah was 41 when "Friends" premiered

2004

Sarah was 51 when Facebook was launched

2010

Sarah was 57 when Instagram was launched

2021

Sarah was 68 when the James Webb Space Telescope was launched

2022

Passed away December 4, age 69

Tributes and memories

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Kristie Shultis 65w

Mama

She Made Ordinary Days Sacred She didn’t need a spotlight. She shined in the everyday. In folding towels just right. In remembering your favorite snacks. In the way she showed up for you, even when you didn’t ask. Especially then. She loved her people hard—and you always knew it. She was Mema, Mom, a friend you could count on, and a protector without armor. She was joy, wrapped in a soft voice and strong hands. And her absence… it doesn’t leave silence. It leaves echoes. Echoes of love. Of warmth. Of “make sure you get home safe.” And if you’re reading this, know: She mattered. She changed lives—especially ours. And her love will outlive us all.