Imprint

The other day I met with a supporter of our organization at a local bistro. She’s a very passionate woman; a proud grandmother who takes care of her granddaughter every Tuesday and Thursday. The granddaughter has a rare disease which is very serious but under control.

The woman lives in an extraordinary home in a lavish neighborhood, a home that she carefully laid out and built over a decade ago. The foyer, she said, is full of large panes of glass that let in the sunlight from the coast, where the house rests.

She said when she has the granddaughter over to her house, the girl inevitably places her grubby palms on the glass and presses her nose and forehead against it to look outside at the water.

She said that the other day the granddaughter had misappropriated a yellow crayon and wrote faint waxy loops over a section of glass.

I said that kids sure can make a mess.

She said that a day or so later she looked at the glass and started laughing. She didn’t see the crayon or a mess, but rather happy remnants of a granddaughter who she loves with all her might, a granddaughter who might live until she is in her twenties, or might not.

Her husband went to wipe off the crayon and fingerprints, but she said, no, just leave them there a little longer.