Dear Mrs. Hunter, each night Riley and I still look for your light.

Mrs. Evelyn Hunter passed on from this world. A week has gone by and it’s starting to sink in a bit. It was inevitable she leave us. We all do. Birth. Life. Death. That’s the way of things.

Some go too soon but a very few make it to 103 years on this earth. Why are some people different? Special.

We come into this world naked, crying, getting illnesses, going to school, getting picked on, marrying, laughing, raising children, getting talked about, cooking, working at jobs each day.

Some people are just big. Not like Shaquille O’Neal big. It’s more what’s inside them that takes up space. The unseen they unknowingly ladle onto everything in their presence.

An essence. I’m not referring to a woman who wears too much perfume; this fragrance is like walking up to a magnolia blossom. Sure it’s pretty to look at the velvet flower, the sturdy tan branches and the evergreen leaves. But showy flowers wither and decay. The magnolia is not just voluptuous, spilling-forth pretty. It’s real treasure is found inside. When passing them I can’t help but pull the flower close and stick my nose down deep, inhaling. I’m almost giddy at the delicious the scent. Sweetness, oil, traces of honey, southern. A fragrance more alive than the blossom bearing it.

When we moved to town over a decade ago, on Christmas Eve I walked across the street. Taking my then six-year old son by the hand, we went to take Mrs. Hunter a pie. As we got closer, the windows were dark and it was obvious no one was home. Nearing the front porch, I stopped.

It was hard to believe that porch hadn’t fallen in under the weight of all the presents left by the door. Feeling a bit silly, I tucked the pie under something wrapped in red foil tied with a golden bow. I turned to my son and whispered,

“Madison loves this woman.”

Her essence filled that house. Sitting outside the other night my daughter said, “It’s sad that Mrs. Hunter is not over there anymore.”

It’s still a beautiful house but something’s been sucked away.

They came out with that coffee table book featuring many of the lovely homes in town. They are truly beautiful – but to me the real beauty of this town is not found in bound glossy photographs.

It was found in things like the “Hey Darlin’s” of Evelyn Hunter. In her smile and light behind her eyes. In a woman at 103 still waving to crowd who sang her “Happy Birthday.” In the words she spoke to the school children that evening and to the infant she asked be brought up close so she could look into the baby’s face.

When you were in her presence, purity spilled forth. Mrs. Hunter touched others from the inside out. She filled people. These days, people need filling with magnolia sweetness and goodness. Not many people know how to do that anymore. I am going to miss that.

Looking across the street the shortly after Mrs. Hunter died, Riley Knight, her 8 year-old neighbor sighed, “Look Mama, Mrs. Evelyn left her porch light on.”

Each night I look for that light. Every time I see her lamppost shining, I can’t help but smile on the inside — and get a little filling of good.