You know what’s rare?
Not being admired.
Not being liked.
But being known.
The kind of known that doesn’t ask for attention—
it just notices.
It remembers your favorite snack.
It sees when you’re tired, even if you smile through it.
It’s the kind of care that doesn’t wait to be asked.
Sr. Dorothy Anne was like that.
Even into her late 80s, she dressed like she was headed to a board meeting—
long skirt, suit jacket, everything pressed and proper.
She took pride in how she showed up.
She ironed her clothes. She carried herself with grace and dignity.
And she wanted the same for me.
One day—before individual snacks were even a thing—
she took a whole box of my favorite salty treat,
portioned it out with care, tucked each serving into neat little bundles,
and walked them from the convent to my office at the hospital.
Because she knew they were my go-to snack.
Because she wanted me to be healthy not eating too many at once.
Because she loved me in the kind of way that’s thoughtful, intentional, and full of quiet grace.
No performance.
No grand gesture.
Just love that noticed.
That’s what it feels like to be known.
Not fixed.
Not managed.
But gently seen—by someone who’s paid attention to the details.
And I think that’s what so many of us are really longing for.
Not a spotlight.
Not applause.
Just someone to remember the small thing.
The favorite snack.
The exact moment we needed it.
Being known changes everything.
And if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that kind of love—
you don’t forget it.
