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 finally 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!
Journals paint lives in ways that simple words cannot. When we
moved, I unpacked 10 family complete diaries and a few not so complete.
The bold underlined words are from Wednesday Words, 2015.
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