Monday, September 10, 2012

Live Between Sunsets Like Mitch Albom

There are times when God brings things into your existence that are undeniable.

This is how it came to pass, I learned of and acquired Mitch Albom's, The Time Keeper. The story found me, rather than me finding it, among the hundreds of books surrounding me.

Within the pages of The Time Keeper, I found a number of the most beautiful passages...

"There is a reason God limits mans days."

"We all yearn for what we've lost. But sometimes we forget what we have."  

"The joy of living between sunsets."

Mitch's words gave me chills, as though reading William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Although, of course The Time Keeper is not written in Old English.

As Mitch was originally a sports writer, his style is very short and pointed. Yet imaginative and descriptive. His books are not very long, and with that, readers are assured that every word counts.

It was Mitch's writing style that much inspired my own. Short sentences, quick movement along in the story. Yet not skipping out on the elements that stay true and genuine to the story.

I give Mitch Albom 5 Rock Stars for The Time Keeper.  

I will continue to pick up his books, without knowing what they are about. For I've never been left discontent or unsatisfied. Exactly what I'd desire and in many cases have, with my own readers. 


Saturday, September 1, 2012

What I'm Missing For My Birthday

My Grandma Fran has been on my mind a lot lately.

I remember talking to her and she would tell me about her problems, and somehow I'd always think of something funny to say. She would laugh with her beautiful sense of humor.

"Oh honey, you're so funny!" She would say, sometimes even snorting when she laughed.

Ultimately, that's what is on my heart.

This will be my first birthday without my Grandma Fran.

Time heals everything. All of the hard a difficult moments of struggle toward the end fade into the distance. The moments that shine, glisten and stand out are the wonderful parts of a remarkable woman.

There is a piece of her in everything around me. 

When I touch fabric, I always flash back to the childhood blanket she gave me or the curtains she made me. When my boyfriend rubs my back, I relax back into the eight year old that went to sleep with my Grandma wiping the worries away and she stayed with me until I slept.

And my birthdays. All 31 of them.

She always called. Always sang. Always sent me cards. Even on her deathbed last year, she wrote me a card with her shaky hand. It may have been the final thing she ever wrote.

What I'd really like to do for my birthday this year, is to go back in time to the day before she died.  When we sat outside with the cool breeze as she slept on my shoulder with my arm around her.

We didn't speak. She was too weak, but most importantly, sometimes love doesn't need words. It just needs to be lived.

"Thank you, Grandma. I love you."