Thank you Ann and Steve for this precious poem:
She is just away,
In a land of light and peace,
Where warmth and love abound
And worldly difficulties cease…
She is just away,
But her memory remains
And the love she left within your heart
Will help ease your pain.
May her memory live on and on
As your sorrow fades away.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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I listened to the waters moan
And watched the gull and flightly cloud
Above Pacific sky, and knew the strength
Of nature’s breath and shouted loud
A message “I love you” to the winds
To bring to you.
I stood alone upon the shore
In pensive mood with embedded memory
Of Mother, Father. A closeness came
For I recalled a time gone by where
Our joys were one, a kindness, smile past
And then my tears were gone
What was then will last.
~M. Hack
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Melanie and her Mom, “Tillie”
March 14, 1922 – January 13, 2012
Born in Grahamdale, Manitoba. Daughter of Henry and Caroline Munk.
Tillie passed away peacefully in Vernon B.C. in the loving presence of her daughters.
Predeceased by her husband of 68 years, Otto (June 25, 2010), daughter Cynthia, son-in-law Larry Schaufele and many siblings.
Survived by her sister, Emma, children; Doug (Starr), Marlene (Peter), Roger (Marsha), Ken (Amber) and Melanie (Wayne); 16 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren.
A devoted longtime Armed Forces wife, she enjoyed many travels abroad. Her hobbies included acting, art, sewing, cooking and ceramics.
Viewing and cremation was held at Bowers Funeral Home, Salmon Arm, B.C. on Monday January 16, 2012.
If so desired, memorial contributions may be made to the Alzheimer’s Society, Suite 300, 828 west 8th Ave, Vancouver, B.C. V5Z 1E2.
Interment will take place in early July, 2012.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“Christmas is most truly Christmas when we celebrate it by giving the light of love to those who need it most.”
~Ruth Carter Stapleton
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Thanks for sending this story to me, Dwight:
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed.
His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.
“Hi three, baby; Hi there, big boy. I see yaw, buster,” the man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks of, “What do we do?”
Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi. Hi there.”
Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.
Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake?” Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.”
Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.
“Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed.
As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position.
Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Erik, in an act of total trust, love and submission, laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back.
No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.”
Somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift.”
I said nothing more than a muttered thanks.
With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.”
I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin; who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes.
I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?” when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”
This is to remind us that Christmas isn’t about material things. It’s about LOVE.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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“The only real blind person at Christmas-time is he who has not Christmas in his heart.”
~Helen Keller
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Thanks for passing on this story, Ken:
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish wolfhound named Belker.
The dog’s owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer.
I told the family we couldn’t do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker’s family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker’s transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker’s death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, ”I know why.”
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me.
I’d never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I try and live.
He said, ‘People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life — like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?” The six-year-old continued, ”Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you’re happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk. Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you’re not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
There comes a time in life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it.
You surround yourself with people who make you laugh, forget the bad, and focus on the good.
So, love the people who treat you right. Think good thoughts for the ones who don’t.
Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is part of LIFE…Getting back up is LIVING…
Have a great life.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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A vacationing American businessman standing on the pier of a quaint coastal fishing village in southern Mexico watched as a small boat with just one young Mexican fisherman pulled into the dock. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. Enjoying the warmth of the early afternoon sun, the American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.
“How long did it take you to catch them?” the American casually asked.
“Oh, a few hours,” the Mexican fisherman replied.
“Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the American businessman then asked.
The Mexican warmly replied, “With this I have more than enough to support my family’s needs.”
The businessman then became serious, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
Responding with a smile, the Mexican fisherman answered, “I sleep late, play with my children, watch ballgames, and take siesta with my wife. Sometimes in the evenings I take a stroll into the village to see my friends, play the guitar, sing a few songs…”
The American businessman impatiently interrupted, “Look, I have an MBA from Harvard, and I can help you to be more profitable. You can start by fishing several hours longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra money, you can buy a bigger boat. With the additional income that larger boat will bring, before long you can buy a second boat, then a third one, and so on, until you have an entire fleet of fishing boats.”
Proud of his own sharp thinking, he excitedly elaborated a grand scheme which could bring even bigger profits, “Then, instead of selling your catch to a middleman you’ll be able to sell your fish directly to the processor, or even open your own cannery. Eventually, you could control the product, processing and distribution. You could leave this tiny coastal village and move to Mexico City, or possibly even Los Angeles or New York City, where you could even further expand your enterprise.”
Having never thought of such things, the Mexican fisherman asked, “But how long will all this take?”
After a rapid mental calculation, the Harvard MBA pronounced, “Probably about 15-20 years, maybe less if you work really hard.”
“And then what, señor?” asked the fisherman.
“Why, that’s the best part!” answered the businessman with a laugh. “When the time is right, you would sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.”
“Millions? Really? What would I do with it all?” asked the young fisherman in disbelief.
The businessman boasted, “Then you could happily retire with all the money you’ve made. You could move to a quaint coastal fishing village where you could sleep late, play with your grandchildren, watch ballgames, and take siesta with your wife. You could stroll to the village in the evenings where you could play the guitar and sing with your friends all you want.”
The moral of the story is: Know what really matters in life, and you may find that it is already much closer than you think.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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Written by Andy Rooney, a man having the gift of saying so much with so few words.
He died Friday November 4, 2011, according to CBS, only a month after delivering his 1,097th and final televised commentary.
He was 92 years old.
I’ve learned…That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I’ve learned…That when you’re in love, it shows.
I’ve learned…That just one person saying to me, ‘You’ve made my day!’ makes my day.
I’ve learned…That having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I’ve learned…That being kind is more important than being right.
I’ve learned…That you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I’ve learned…That I can always pray for someone when I don’t have the strength to help him in some other way.
I’ve learned…That no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
I’ve learned…That sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
I’ve learned…That simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
I’ve learned…That life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
I’ve learned…That we should be glad God doesn’t give us everything we ask for.
I’ve learned…That money doesn’t buy class.
I’ve learned…That it’s those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
I’ve learned…That under everyone’s hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
I’ve learned…That to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
I’ve learned…That when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
I’ve learned…That love, not time, heals all wounds.
I’ve learned…That the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
I’ve learned…That everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
I’ve learned…That no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
I’ve learned…That life is tough, but I’m tougher.
I’ve learned…That opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
I’ve learned…That when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
I’ve learned…That I wish I could have told my Mom and Dad that I love them one more time before they passed away.
I’ve learned…That one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
I’ve learned…That a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
I’ve learned…That when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you’re hooked for life.
I’ve learned…That everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you’re climbing it.
I’ve learned…That the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.
It’s National Friendship Week. Show your friends how much you care.
YOU ARE MY FRIEND, AND I AM HONORED!
Thanks for passing this on to me, Roy.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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The following story caught my eye because the woman was intensely fearful of the water…just like my sister, Cindy—who also died mysteriously.
Natalie Wood (the actress) died in 1981, by ‘accidental’ drowning, while boating off Catalina Island near the California coast. She was found wearing a long nightgown, socks and a jacket. I always thought that was odd because of how the story was portrayed at the time. (Yes, I remember when it happened—guess I’m showing my age.)
The autopsy report showed Wood had two dozen bruises on her body, including a facial abrasion on her left cheek, and bruises on her arms.
Natalie’s case is being re-investigated because someone has new information. I sure hope, for the family’s sake, some closure finally comes from this!
I’ll be following this story. And if you hear something about this case before I get a chance to update on it, please feel free to comment here.
(The anniversary of her death is coming up on November 29th.)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
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