Like Katya

" Like Katya" is probably the highest compliment you could ever receive from me. Katya was an angel in the form of a prematurely aging Russian lady I knew on my mission. We never left her small, modest apartment without something: leftover bread, a handful of dill, homemade socks, a prayer. That's just how she was, always gracious, always giving.

Well, I'm at the tail end of Mark's absence (full-body sigh), and I'm gushing with gratitude for my mother, who has tirelessly helped take care of me and my brood these last eight days. After her long days at work, she's helped with dishes, laundry, bath time, bedtime, treated us to snowies, dinner, and even babysat twice so that I could go out with friends. Always gracious, always giving.

And like Katya, my Mom never leaves our house without leaving something behind: bananas, popsicles for the girls, a $10 bill tucked under the toaster, a micro plane grater that I misplaced, coupons, magazines, hugs and kisses.

And the thing with my Mom, like Katya, is so much has been taken from her: three babies, two houses, a boat, two marriages, the allegiance of children, and yet while so many of us would turn to easy bitterness and hoard everything that remained for ourselves, she still gives. Always gracious, always giving.

I think there's a special place reserved in heaven for people like her and Katya. I do.