The summer of 2004 was the year I fell in love with reading, my Grandma would be the source of this. A five-foot five woman from Kansas that worked her way up the corporate ladder of Bell Communications while being a single parent of three kids. By this time my Grandma had been retired for a decade but still had that tenacity it took for her to make it in the corporate world of the 1970’s. My Grandma’s book collection consisted mainly of books like Tale of Two Cities and War and Peace and the majority of our grandparents had on their bookshelves deemed “classics”. Not having a formal education my Grandma was always reading in a book learning whatever she could having this need to consume books. Fourteen-year-old me didn’t enjoy reading, with teenage angst and football season starting in a few weeks the last thing I wanted to do was to be inside reading. Ruling with an iron fist my Grandma insisted reading was what was needed on this perfect summer day. Reading, as most kids that age do when you give them a book that smells old and is about as interesting as watching wallpaper dry, I sat there and read the words on the page. I would eventually finish and be outside again playing.

A few hours later an ambulance turned onto our cul-de-sac and straight into my Grandma’s driveway. She was rushed to the ER to have a battery of tests done to finally figure out what caused her to collapse that evening, Cancer. Surgery, chemo, radiation and all the things that come with this terrible disease my Grandma never truly recovered. Over the next few years my sister and I would take turns reading what-ever books she would like to help comfort her. She would ask me, “What do you think of the book, Matty?” weakly from her bed, usually a response of ,“It’s ok” by me. One evening after coming home from football practice my Mom took me over to my grandparent’s house to check on them. As I walked into my Grandma’s room and saw a bag on her nightstand, however I did not pay attention to it. After asking her how she was feeling she asked me to turn off her radio and sit down to read to her. Not seeing a book where we usually left them, she handed me the bag sitting on her dresser with a smile on her face “Read this, I think you will enjoy it.” Inside was the book The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien. Within the next few weeks, I had finished this book and moved onto the next, eventually completing the series all the while my Grandmother sat there smiling. I traveled to another world I never knew existed, which in turn, later in life would save me. After a long battle with cancer my Grandmother eventually passed away in 2009.

Life would continue, I join the military, meet the love of my life, had a daughter, I was deployed and then bought a home. Thing about tragedy is when you know it’s coming it is easier to accept it. August 22, 2016 my Mom passed away unexpectedly, blindsided my family was in shambles. Just like my Grandma, my Mom was the glue that held us together she took up that mantle when my Grandma passed.

My military training went into overdrive I took control and lifted that heavy burden my Mom held up for so long. Over the next few years making sure everyone else was okay I forgot to check on myself. I was not fine I pushed myself behind the façade of “I’m fine”, internally I was drowning, gasping for help. While packing away the majority of my things I came across a box of my old books I thought I lost, I opened it up and found my copy of The Hobbit my Grandma gave me. I sat down and started to read, where I stayed all day. After finishing the last page, I went to close the book and on inside of the back cover I saw the message my Grandma had put in all those years ago. “Reading is an adventure; it’s been amazing to adventure, with you keep going”. With another inscription after from my Mom with the words “Love You More”. She had added this one day when she found me crying into the book trying, to remember Grandma. Ultimately reliving these memories pushed me to get the help I needed to deal with my mental health.

Knowing I can relive these memories makes me feel like they may not be here, but they are not truly gone. As history books tell history, books help me connect to the ones I’ve lost. Reading can be for more then just entertainment. It can also be education, it can also be an emotional and spiritual connection. When my daughter picks out a book to read, she always picks out the Very Hungry Caterpillar. This is the book my Mom used to read to me when I was little, she also used to read it to my daughter before she passed away. One day when my daughter is older, I will read this old ragged copy of The Hobbit with her so she can go on an adventure with me. To show her even if someone is not there physically,  they can be there in your memory, by sharing my story.