Windowsill, Until We Meet Again

A: Beatrice Jackson White, who lived a fantastic 95 years, from February 19th, 1930, to October 8th, 2025. And the image that really sticks with me from her life is her front porch.

B: Her front porch? That's such a specific, almost nostalgic image. What made it so central to her story? Was it just a place she sat, or was there more to it?

A: Oh, way more. It was like the heart of her world, and a welcoming hub for everyone else. You'd find her out there humming, tapping her foot, sometimes even playing her harmonica. Just watching the world go by.

B: So it wasn't just about what she was doing, but the vibe she created. That sparkle in her eye, the warm smile, a dash of mischief you mentioned... that's what made it welcoming, I bet.

A: Exactly! It was a place for stories, laughter, memories. Time just slowed down. She genuinely found beauty in everyday life, and that porch, whether in Rose Park or Wayne County, was where she shared it with everyone. And from that welcoming hub, her influence truly blossomed through her family, didn't it? I mean, 7 children, 37 grandchildren, and a staggering 72.5 great-grandchildren.

B: Seventy-two and a half? I've got to ask, how do you even count half a great-grandchild? But wow, that's just an incredible family tree, truly. That's a life lived fully.

A: It totally is. And it makes perfect sense when you hear that her core languages were music, family, and food. You can just picture her living those out, can't you?

B: You really can. Especially the food part, with her spending summers canning in the kitchen. 'Rows of jars glistening like little jewels on the counter,' it says.

A: Right? And not just beautiful, but 'made with love, a lot of sass,' and then saved to be gifted at Christmas. That's such a personal touch to those preserves.

B: It really is. Imagine getting a jar of Grandma Beatrice's peaches or pickles. That's a gift with a story. And speaking of family, she was cherished by all her children: Russel and Brenda White, Royd and Jill White, Janelle and Jeff Harwood, Mitzi and Terry Cox, Lex and Tina White, Tera White Olsen, and Carol and Larry Fisher.

A: It paints a picture of a home constantly bustling, full of life and laughter, nurtured by those three foundational 'languages' she spoke so fluently.

B: Absolutely. A true matriarch in every sense of the word, leaving an edible, musical, and profoundly human legacy.

A: And speaking of that profound human connection, there's something else that really stood out about Beatrice... she absolutely detested the word 'good-bye'. Like, it was off-limits at her house.

B: No good-byes? That's quite a rule. What did you say instead when you were leaving one of those Sunday evening gatherings?

A: She had her own phrase. She'd just smile, maybe give a little wink, and say 'windowsill.'

B: Windowsill? That's... really unique. What did that mean to her?

A: It was her way of reminding everyone that love doesn't actually end. It just moves, like how sunlight shifts across a room throughout the day. I find that incredibly beautiful.

B: That's a powerful image. It shifts the perspective from an ending to a transformation, doesn't it? Very Beatrice.

A: Exactly. And you can only imagine the reunion she's having now. Being greeted by her beloved husband, Lynn O White, her best friend and sister Viola, all her other seven siblings, her parents, and so many friends who've been waiting for her.

B: Oh, the laughter and music up there must be incredible. So, for her family, it's not a farewell at all then, is it?

A: Not at all. It's 'windowsill, until we meet again.'