When the town’s beloved, elderly, and feisty Lucy Powell died suddenly at age 95, all wondered how to peer into her belongings. Miss Powell had no relatives yet alive and no family to inherit a lifetime of her history. Her family was her community and friends.
Slowly, close friends began to assimilate bits of China, old books, quilts, and other items into their own homes. That was when the diary was discovered. Who should take it? Who should even open it?
A diary can paint a picture of unrequited love with hearts broken, hearts renewed, and love lost then found. Finding a worn diary, fringed from fingers turning pages over decades, awed all who gathered around.
Finally, Old Ms Alda Franklin stepped forward. I will take it. She and I shared so many memories… All agreed.
When Alda settled down into her rocker with a cup of tea, she opened the cover and began reading each page. She chuckled, cried, gasped, and sighed until she read the last page:
My life had meaning and gave me reason to exist. Touching others, being kind and generous, loving those who are unloved: that is the essence of life.
To all who turn these pages: Go! Make your life count!