When I picked this book up, I had no idea what it was about.  I mean, I had a vague idea because of the title, but didn’t read anything about it or know anyone who read it.  I picked it up because I wanted to read The Five People You Meet In Heaven, but couldn’t find it, and thought reading this little book would be a good way to see if I even liked Albom’s style.  At first, I wanted to hate it.  Like Tending Roses, I wanted to hate the book after I figured out what, and more importantly, who the book was about.  However, unlike Tending, I couldn’t hate it.  There were too many things I could hear or remember myself saying that just gave it a bigger impact.  Perhaps I also read it at a better time in my grieving process.  Whatever the reason, this book broke my heart.

          Like Chick, I miss Gram more than I think I even know.  I keep wishing she will come back, even just for a wrinkle in time, just once to say, "I understand.  I’m proud of you.  I will always love you."  Fewer thana dozen words, and I think I could stand it after that…  But that’s the thing about getting what you want, isn’t it?  You think it’s going to be enough, but it just leaves you wanting more.  There’s a song like that, too.

"Last night I had a crazy dream.  A wish was granted just for me, it could be for anything.  I didn’t ask for money, or a mansion in Malibu.  I simply wished for one more day with you.  One more day.  One more time.  One more sunset, maybe, I’d be satisfied.  But then again…  I know what it would do…  Leave me wishing still for one more day with you."  (Diamond Rio)

          I’m not a great person.  I know that.  I know I have said many hurtful things, done many shameful things, and probably even hurt and shamed more than I know.  When I think of what could have been, memories never made, and moments missed, it makes me almost loathe myself.  I am sure no one completely avoids being stung by their children, but I hope that I don’t screw up so badly that my children grow up, move away, and are happy to do so.  I hope they never think I do things to be curel, unfair, or just because it’s easier for me not to.  I hope that, at least in the eyes of my childre, I wasn’t a complete failure, or a total loss.  Gram, like Chick’s mother was a note-writer and I plan to plant notes in their lunches, coat pockets, and sometimes even little things to remind them that I love them, and that I’m always there…  But I hope they don’t think I am smothering them, or that I can’t let them be.  I hope they still want to give me a quick hug, and *gasp* maybe even a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before going to summer camp for a week or more…  Most of all, I hope they know even a fraction of the depth of my love for them…   I hope Gram knows it, too.

          And you thought you were getting a book review, didn’t you?  *shrug*  My bad.   

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