Unseen Epilogue_Healing Begins With A Hug_Memory lane_The Rocking Chair
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Unseen Epilogue
Unseen Epilogue The final pages of the story of the librarian known as Mwww.onedoor.ccary McFee closed far more strangely than any of her colleages in the Rehobeth Beach Public Library ever would have imagined.Mary had come to the library six months ago after moving to the Delmarva Peninsula from Akron, Ohio. She had fit neatly into the typical librarian stereotype–single, quiet and unassuming–even living alone in her beachside condo with only her gentle tabby cat as a roommate.Yet, the other library employees who lived near her noticed that, every day since joi...
Healing Begins With A Hug
Healing is the power to heal one's heart from unimaginable pain. Healing is the power to forgive and be forgiven. Healing is the power of love and it all begins with a hug.My family has been in a state of civil war for decades and the problem is no one knows why it all began, but we do know where it all began. This decades old rift began with my grandmother Julie and someone name Cindy.Over the years I asked my mother "Why grandma looks so sad?" My mother didn't answer. So, I went to my grandfather and I pleaded with him to tell me, he did in one word, Cindy.As you can imagine I was confused. ...
Memory lane
“Don’t you remember?”Grandma does not need to reply. I can see it on her face and read it in her eyes, this mix of disbelief and sadness. She genuinely does not remember. This is not new, or uncommon. It just seems to happen more and more frequently lately. She denied it at first, she swore her memory was as good as ever. She even went as far as to claim that I was making things up or simply imagining things. But with time, she has accepted that she simply does not remember as much as she used to. Old age. I sigh. A soft sigh though, so she cannot hear. I do not want her to think I am disappoi...
The Rocking Chair
When the sun shifted low in the sky, not low enough to touch the water but enough to duck under the willow branches, it cast long rays of golden-orange light onto the rotting wooden porch of Herman Wells. His faithful, aging beagle, Charlie, faced into the light, letting it soak into his fur as he snoozed.Herman stroked a wrinkled hand over his companion from his rocking chair, which, like the porch, was old and full of splinters. The old man paid it no mind, though. The red faded blanket protected him well enough as a cushion. The crickets had begun to sing, and the humidity of the late summe...