This morning, I heard a vehicle in my driveway. I opened the door just in time to see a van pulling away and a brightly striped gift bag sitting on the lawn. I called out, and the van stopped. It was

Brenda Hemenway-Hollenbeck, she and I went to school together. Her 5th birthday party was the very first birthday party I was ever invited to, and I remember every detail of that special day.

While I was there, her dad, Jay, asked when my birthday was. When I told him November 7th, he burst into laughter because it was his birthday too. For years afterward, Jay would call me early every November 7th and sing “Happy Birthday to me” . I was painfully shy back then and always a little embarrassed, but today those memories make me smile.

Jay was one of those genuinely good men—honest as fire, hardworking, humble, and always quick with a laugh.

Marie was every bit his equal, working tirelessly beside him on the farm and inside the home. I admired her so much that I used to tell her I wanted to grow up to be just like her.

Life has a way of carrying us in different directions. We raise children, welcome grandchildren, shoulder responsibilities, and before we know it, years have quietly slipped by.

Brenda and I now live only a few miles apart, and when I realized it was her sitting in my driveway, I literally squealed with delight.

After losing both of her parents, Brenda has been sorting through the treasures her mother carefully saved. In the middle of all the responsibilities already on her plate, she found a stack of childhood drawings from classmates. She took the time to frame one that I had colored for her all those years ago and brought it to me today.

I don’t have anything else from my childhood like this. We had very few photographs to begin with, and when my parents’ farmhouse burned in 1985, whatever memories may have remained were lost.

Now, this picture hangs above my coffee station, and every time I see it, it reminds me of a little girl, a birthday party, and a family who showed kindness without ever knowing how much it would be remembered.

Seeing Brenda again and wrapping my arms around her was a gift all by itself.

Brenda is so very much Jay and Marie’s daughter—”their wonderful surprise ending to their baby years. They would be incredibly proud of the strong, kind, humble, hardworking woman she has become.I am PROUD TO KNOW HER. She is a wonderful woman.

Thank you, Brenda Hollenbeck

SIDE NOTE FROM ME, THE WRITER: I find it comical that at that young age, I was all about mail, a newspaper and a letter for me. Today, I call myself a wordsmith, but other may call me a writer. I have written four books, The Whispers Series/Collection and I have been writing in journals for over five decades.

Writing is cheap therapy, and it helps record so you can relive the moments again later in life. It can be a wonderful trait to nututre. I am not so much of a SCRAPBOOK Journalist, more life just write, create some art work in some spaces unless there were tickets from a restaurant where I went with someone special, or a note the grandchildren left me.

A few years ago, most of those journals burned i a fire, and at the time I was ok with it, it hurt but I dealt with it. Today, I mourn all the baby shower invites, my dad’s old drivers’ licenses, my great grandmothers license photo of the 12 grandbabies when they were still growing in their momma’s belly. What a tragic loss and at the same time…who would have read them beside me. No one. Therefore I suppose it removed one more thing for others to have to sort through if I don’t get a chance to do it myself before I leave this earthly dwelling.

It would appear to this writer, that writing has been in my blood all along. My great, great grandfather wrote a book in 1919, his granddaughter was a writer, (I have books of her journals and probably 100 of her poems and her precious beautiful paintings. and her granddaughter (me) is a writer, of books, poetry, and I write for the local newspaper. It’s a wonderful legacy. I hope I live to see who will carry this writers torch forward.