Waking up, thinking of saints this Sunday morning. 

Yesterday, Karry mentioned in passing that it would have been her Mom’s 90th birthday. 

I confessed that over the past couple of days I found myself registering the month and days, sifting my brain as if there was a birthday I should be remembering, but coming up empty.

Betty passed way too early, at 71, from colon cancer. Can’t believe it’s been 19 years. Peter and Emma were so young.

There’s a photo we keep on the mantle in the dining room. 

I can’t remember the exact circumstances, but I think it was the first time we visited her house after her passing.

I just remember it was a photo that demanded to be taken. 

On the day I remember entering the house through the garage door (as we almost always did)  … taking the stairs up to the main floor … and coming to the top of the steps. 

Instinctively looking left. 

When Peter was young and we’d visit, Gram would always leave a present for Peter in the window in the dining room. 

Usually a little Matchbox car or truck. 

Once loosed from the car, he’d tear up the steps, expectant … look left and make a beeline to the window to see what treasure she had left him. 

She never forgot. He never even had to ask. Even when we’d show up unannounced, there was always something waiting for him in the window.

I always thought that the ritual of that was just the most perfect summing up of Karry’s mom. 

While I hid my enthusiasms better than Peter, I always came up those steps, expectant, too. 

You knew there would always be a simple kindness waiting for you. 

A sweet tea. 

An egg sandwich. 

Something from the garden. 

And, if it was Sunday, a feast for the ages. 

Oh, how she threw down on Sundays. 

On the day we visited after her passing, I remember looking left and seeing the window sill empty.

But instead of feeling the emptiness of that, I registered the sight of the sun’s morning rays blasting through the window, bathing the sill in the most wonderful light.

As if the heavens were conferring their eternal special blessing on that tender, sacred space.

It struck me in the moment, as it still does these 19 years later, as the perfect embodiment of Betty’s love and kindness. 

The promise of a present always waiting in the window.

Betty’s eternal light.