Ever have those ho-hum days where you just don’t feel 100% so you start thinking about the past and you have no energy…you just don’t feel upbeat and you’re not really sure why you feel “down”!

I was having a day like that until one of my brothers (thanks Ken) sent me an email with the subject heading “advice”. It contained beautiful pictures having 40 inspirational quotes…and all to the music of Zamphir (well one particular piece of music, to be exact; a piece that happens to evoke memories of Cindy, her perseverance, her beauty and her love—her favorite music).

After clicking on the link and watching the slide show, I began thinking—about how I could improve my life and feel joyous and more positive.

I guess the thought that hit me the most was “Live with energy, enthusiasm and empathy.”

I don’t always do that.

So I’ve come up with a plan:

When I wake up each morning I will set a daily goal (and proceed with enthusiasm, energy and empathy).

I’ll eliminate clutter (boy, will my husband ever be happy when he hears that’s part of my plan—with my personality I save everything! —in fact I think that’s what I was ruminating about when I received the email…he hates clutter and commented about it just yesterday and I felt “put out”). So I’ll try to eliminate some clutter…and in the process make way for new energy to enter my life.

And while I go about my day I’ll smile and laugh (and try to make at least 3 people laugh).

Plus, I’ll toast something beautiful each day AND I’ll say thanks every day.

I’ll try to make peace with the past so as not to ruin the present (seems something rears its ugly head every now and then to create havoc).

And…

I’ll keep reminding myself that nobody is responsible for my happiness except me!

I’ll also try to learn something new every day (whoa…that’s a biggy!).

Above all I’ll live like the best is yet to come and enjoy the voyage.

Guess I’ve just made my resolutions for the New Year (without realizing it)…except I’m implementing them right away!

Think I’ll keep this list handy as a reminder (I’m sure I’ll need it!)…

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Dear Ann:

I am flat broke from overspending at Christmas time. But I need to go shopping again soon because I am completely out of self-respect. I’ve said things I wish I could take back and I am not feeling too good about myself.

I also want to exchange a carton of self-righteousness for an equal amount of humility. I hear that it is less expensive and wears well, and while I’m at it I’m going to check on tolerance and see if there is any available in my size.

I must remember to try to match my patience with the little I have left. My neighbor is loaded with it and it looks awfully good on her. I was told the same department has a repair shop for mending integrity. Mine has become frayed around the edges from too much compromising. If I don’t get it refurbished soon, there won’t be any left.

I almost forgot the most important thing of all — compassion. If I see some-no matter what the color, size or shape — I’m going to stock up heavily regardless of the price. I have run out of it so many times and I always feel ashamed when it happens.

I don’t know why it has taken me so long to get around to shopping for these items. They don’t cost nearly as much as some of the frivolous things I bought at Christmas time. And I’ll get a lot more satisfaction from them.

Yes, I’m going shopping today and I can leave my checkbook and credit cards at home! The things I’m looking for have no price tags. What a joy!

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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‘Twas the night before Christmas and out on the ranch
The pond was froze over and so was the branch.
The snow was piled up belly-deep to a mule.
The kids were all home on vacation from school,
And happier young folks you never did see-
Just all sprawled around a-watchin’ TV.
Then suddenly, some time around 8 o’clock,
There came a surprise that gave them a shock!
The power went off, the TV went dead!
When Grandpa came in from out in the shed
With an armload of wood, the house was all dark.
“Just what I expected,” they heard him remark.
“Them power line wires must be down from the snow .
Seems sorter like times on the ranch long ago.”
“I’ll hunt up some candles,” said Mom.  “With their light,
And the fireplace, I reckon we’ll make out all right.”
The teen-agers all seemed enveloped in gloom.
Then Grandpa came back from a trip to his room,
Uncased his old fiddle and started to play
That old Christmas song about bells on a sleigh.
Mom started to sing, and 1st thing they knew
Both Pop and the kids were all singing it, too.
They sang Christmas carols, they sang “Holy Night,”
Their eyes all a-shine in the ruddy firelight.
They played some charades Mom recalled from her youth,
And Pop read a passage from God’s Book of Truth.
They stayed up till midnight-and, would you believe,
The youngsters agreed ’twas a fine Christmas Eve.
Grandpa rose early, some time before dawn;
And when the kids wakened, the power was on.
“The power company sure got the line repaired quick,”
Said Grandpa – and no one suspected his trick.
Last night, for the sake of some old-fashioned fun,
He had pulled the main switch – the old Son-of-a-Gun!
~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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There are many occurrences in our day-to-day lives that go unnoticed, but there is one that will remain clear in my mind for the rest of my life, and I would love to share it with you, as a Christmas story.

Throughout much of 1996 and 1997 I was forced to watch helplessly as Parkinson’s disease claimed my father. It is a horrible disease which strips its’ victims of their dignity, but not their will to live.

My father had not lived an easy life, but he never complained or tried to lay blame elsewhere. He was a warm and loving father and husband who would spend many hours of every day working on our farm, but each fall he loved to take a breather and enjoy his favorite sport, hunting. It was like he was totally transformed when hunting season opened. It was his holiday and you could see how much he loved to get out with some of his friends or my brothers for a few days away from the daily demands of farm life. He was always happy if lady luck smiled on him and he was able to bring home a nice deer, but it was just the release that brought out that special something in him at that time of year.

Then as he got older and hunting became too hard for him he would spend hours going for drives in the evening just to see if he could catch a glimpse of some deer. He loved to sit and watch them graze and see if there may be a fawn appear with the doe.

Towards the end, he was confined to hospital for a long time and there were days when he would simply lie there looking out the window towards the hills, and you could see a tear trickle from his eye. I often thought that he must have just been wishing he could be out there again, but it was not to be. He passed away on October 22, 1997, and just before he died he looked directly at me and with a final effort said, “I’ll see you.”

My father and I had always been especially close, and it was so hard for me to accept he was finally gone. The thought of getting life back to normal just didn’t seem possible. Then before we knew it, it was time to begin preparations for Christmas. That winter proved to be a harsh one and we were buried under mounds of snow. Time slipped away and when Christmas day arrived a storm made travel very difficult and we decided to stay home.

All day I kept busy with preparations, and by early afternoon the storm seemed to subside. Just before supper the sky cleared, the wind died down, and everything was so still.

Then, just as I was about to call everyone to sit in to the table, I looked out our big living room window. I was nearly blinded by the brilliance of the sunset on the fresh snow, but out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement. It was a beautiful whitetail doe, and she seemed to have her mind set or at least her eye set on something. She had her head held high, and she jumped the fence and plunged through the heavy snowdrifts heading directly towards the house. I called for everyone to come and see her. She didn’t stop until she was right up to the window. We all stood side by side at the window looking face to face at her only three feet away. Then she took a step to the right and it was like she was staring straight into my eyes. In that instant, and I do not know why, it was like my mind was bombarded with this intense image of my father saying “I’ll see you.”

We stood there in such close contact with this beautiful creature for several minutes, and then she just slowly turned and went back the way she had come.

No one will ever know why she paid us that special visit, but in my heart and in my mind I will never forget the impact it had on me, because I had been wishing all day that my Father were with us.

It will remain a cherished memory for me throughout my life, a wonderful Christmas gift.

~Marla Poncsak

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Hesitating, the first snowflakes fell. It was one day before Christmas. There was this small house in front of a big forest, which was breathing quietness. Just every now and then, two rabbits disturbed the peace and quietness. They seemed to be searching for something between the dead leaves. Inside, a man stared through the window, as if he was waiting for something.

Except for the man, there were two other people in the small room. They were his daughters in the age of fifteen and seventeen, who were both reading. The youngest one was called Mary and the oldest Leslie. They were both of the dreaming type, this unlike their father who, being a lumberjack, could not see any good in dreaming.

Quite often, it bothered him that his daughters were reading. This was not in the first place because he could barely read himself but because books were expensive and he did not make a lot. Every once and a while Leslie spoke up by pointing out that they read used books but this did not mean much to the poorly educated lumberjack.

‘Dad, could we please go for an evening walk?’ Leslie asked. The lumberjack growled a bit and then nodded.

Meanwhile, it was snowing considerably and so the girls dressed accordingly. To make sure that they would not get lost, they took the familiar path, which ran along the wood. To go into the wood itself, was even now for an experienced trapper risky. As more snow fell, the evening became lighter.

Mary and Leslie continued in silence. They both had the same thought: their mother who had died a year ago because of terrible fever. So their father’s behavior was understandable.

When the girls were already at quite a distance from their home, rather suddenly the wind increased. The sisters got a startle out of this because they knew very well what this could mean. They looked at each other but there was no need for words and they returned.

However, a return was out of the question because soon they lost their way. Leslie got overwhelmed by fear and started to cry. Mary tried to comfort her older sister. ‘Take it easy Leslie, we will just wait on this trunk’ she said and put her arm around her sister.

The wind increased to gale force and it seemed as if the snowflakes were trying to beat each other in size and speed. Soon, the snow came to their knees. Leslie was sobbing silently and Mary was praying.

Suddenly, their surroundings were strongly lit. The girls covered their eyes quickly. ‘Don’t be afraid!’ a soft voice said and the sisters looked up at once because they had recognized their mother’s voice. Leslie could not speak at all but Mary felt that this happened for real.

‘O mother, you are returning!’ Mary cried. ‘Only temporarily, after you will have to go on your own on this earth,’ their mother said, emphasizing ‘this’.

The bright white light, which surrounded their mother’s appearance, became less bright and also got different shades of color. ‘Are there more planets like the earth?’ Leslie asked who had recovered from the unusual event. ‘Yes, dearest Leslie, many more but most important is that it is over there always Christmas?’ and their mother brushed away a tear. Now, Leslie could not control her emotions any more either and burst out crying.

Then a miracle occurred: her tears changed into beautiful pearls, which she could catch in her hands. Mary looked up to her mother with a question mark on her face, whose appearance spread now a soft glow.

‘It is really you isn’t it?’ she asked almost begging. ‘Yes Mary, it’s really me. But what happens here is not done by me because only God can do that. This event has a special meaning. It’s an expression of God’s Love for His Creatures. With these pearls part of the hunger, poverty and misery can be solved. Every one of us, gets the chance to perform a very beautiful task; to spread Peace and Love all over the world.’

Tomorrow, it will be Christmas. Your tears will be normal tears again because everybody will have to contribute to the Great Plan him- or herself. Money will only be a tool. One has to act from the heart.

Their mother’s shape began to fade away but Mary and Leslie were not sad. They were very happy because they received the most beautiful Christmas message of their lives.

They did not need to think long about the destination of the pearls. They would give one to their father and the rest would go to the needy ones. They themselves did not even want a pearl since their mother had given them something that was worth much more.

~Author unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn’t wear boots; he didn’t like them and anyway he didn’t own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold.

Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother’s Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, “This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don’t have any money to spend.”

Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn’t because his mother didn’t care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.

What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother’s absence.

All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn’t fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn’t easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to.

Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun’s rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime.

Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime.

He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother’s Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten-cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and said to him, “You just wait here and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

As Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers.

The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid.

Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby’s eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby’s heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box.

“That will be ten cents young man.” the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy’s reluctance, the shop owner added, “I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?”

This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, “Merry Christmas, son.”

As he returned inside, the shopkeeper’s wife walked out. “Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?”

Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, “A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn’t sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago, a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime.

“When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too, was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars.

“When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses.”

The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn’t feel cold at all.

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

It was getting near Christmas and I had delayed putting up a Christmas tree because this had been the first Christmas without our son. He had passed on to be with the Lord a few months before due to having leukemia. During his illness we would talk and he always told me he did not want me to be sad when he passed away and I promised him that I would try really hard not to be sad.

I was doing ok with it until Christmas came near and then I fell apart because he had always enjoyed the holidays so much. He had a way of making Christmas so special to so many people and fun too. So when that first Christmas came around without him I had decided not to put up a tree at all, but the closer it got to Christmas I just felt something inside me telling to put one up. So my husband and I went and bought a tree.

When we began to decorate it I just fell apart because I felt so sad that our son was not there with me. I tried not to cry but I did anyway as I was getting the decorations out the box I had them stored in. I put them on the tree one by one and then I came to a very special ornament that my son gave me the year before, a glass icicle with a gold string on it. He had it all wrapped in a pretty box when he gave it to me and said to me these words which I will never forget, “Mom, I wished I could have gotten you something more but I just don’t have the money this year to buy much.” I gave him a kiss on the forehead and said, “That’s OK son, I understand.” I opened the gift and there was the most beautiful glass tree ornament I have ever seen, not an expensive one either, but one given with love. He and I hung it on the tree that year, and that was our last Christmas together.

Well when I came across that tree ornament tears fell from my eyes as I remembered my son. I hung the ornament on the tree as tears fell from my eyes and for a brief moment I felt his hand on mine as I hung it on the tree and felt his present there with me and then I began smelling the sweetest scent I have ever smelled. I cannot even describe what it smelled like but it was a sweet beautiful smell. I know in my heart that my son had visited me and helped me hang the tree ornament he had given me.

I know now too that he is always with me and the love goes on forever. That small, cheap gift he gave to me was the most precious gift in the world to me, it means more to me than all the expensive gifts in this world. It was a gift given with love and nothing in this world could ever top that. So every year since, I have made it a special moment when I hang the ornament on our tree because I know he is there to with me helping me to hang it in just the right place on the tree.

~Mary Nappier

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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See the pretty snowflakes
Falling from the sky;
On the wall and housetops
Soft and thick they lie.

On the window ledges,
On the branches bare;
Now how fast they gather,
Filling all the air.

Look into the garden,
Where the grass was green;
Covered by the snowflakes,
Not a blade is seen.

Now the bare black bushes
All look soft and white,
Every twig is laden,
What a pretty sight!
~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Well, it looks like the snow is finally here to stay for winter…and I’ve had a jolly old time shoveling our driveway because it’s so much smaller than the driveway of our previous house!

And as I was cleaning off the patio and the gazebo roof out back I had to take a long-leaning-on-the-shovel moment to appreciate the sight of the snow twirling down.

In fact, I just had to blow a small fistful of flakes into the wind simply to watch them dance.

Yes, it can be a glorious time of the year if we just take the time to appreciate the beauty around us.

Next time it’s snowing and you visit your beloved’s grave in winter, think of the snowflakes as kisses from above.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

When did my life begin? In all truth I would have to say that it began eight days before Christmas when I was already the mature age of nine years old. Or to be more exact, I was nine and a half. That extra half makes all the difference in the world to a child who wants to grow up quickly. December 17, 1986, that is the day I so vividly remember. My mind is a VCR that can play, rewind, fast forward and pause any second of that day. But regretfully, I cannot stop it.

Oh yes, it started out just like any regular day for a young boy just itching to get out of school as quickly as possible. I was always the teacher’s pet and the quiet type but just between you and me, school was no roller coaster ride. The most terrifying thing I remember is my teacher from that year. Oh how I would dread the end of the school day. Miss Tanner would stand by the door as we filed out one by one and kiss us on the cheek. It was a slobbering mess.

I cannot recall what the weather was like that day – it seems like such a trite and needless detail. But I can tell you this much; we lived in South Florida, so I can pretty much guarantee you that it was hotter than hell on Fry Day. The sky may have been blue but your skin would be bright red. No, I don’t remember what the weather was like, but I do know that it couldn’t have been beautiful.

I would meet my sister, Sarah, at the bike racks as soon as school let out. She was two years younger than I and probably a lot prettier. We lived nearly two miles from the school grounds and had driven our bikes to and from the campus all year. We walked the distance before that year because there were no sidewalks along the side of the road leading to our home. Our parents both worked full time and riding our bikes back and forth wasn’t exactly a hardship, it was more like a grown-up responsibility. More importantly, it was fun.

Now you have to understand, we needed to get home as quickly as possible. With Christmas being so close, we assured ourselves that there were possibly unwrapped presents lying around hidden in our parents’ room. The goal was to get home before Mom and Dad. My sister and I were cohorts in this great and terrible deed. Pssst? It wasn’t the first time.

Anyway, we rode like mad, passing by tons of new houses going up in our developing city. New hotels and supermarkets were arriving nearly everyday. There were many times we saw a tour bus drive by slowly filled with people eager to spend every penny they had. On what, I have no idea. Royal Palm Beach was just a speck becoming a star at the time.

A smiling crossing guard led us silently across the last intersection before our intended destination. Just four more blocks and we waited side by side for the traffic to subside before crossing the street to the dirt road our house was on. Two more minutes and we might have to chance to sneak a peek at our presents.

I don’t know which way my eyes were looking but I did see the white van. It was the last vehicle that would pass us before we crossed the street. I looked over at Sarah. Her eyes were focused on something down the road in the opposite direction. That’s when I realized that her feet were propelling her bike forward.

“Sarah, No!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. She was in the opposite lane, almost across the street. Screeching tires. My sister never turned her head. I watched her fly off of her bike and skid several feet along the harsh pavement.

“Sarah! Sarah!”

The driver of the white van jumped out quickly. He slammed the door shut and pressed his body against the side of his vehicle. He pounded his fists furiously against it. I looked at my sister lying there helplessly. There was no movement.

“I’m going to get my parents!” I shouted at the driver, not knowing what I should do or say. He glanced at me but said nothing. I ran down that old dirt road faster than a cheetah could dare ever hope for. All the while I was shouting, “Mom, Dad? Mom, Dad!” Our house was the fifth one on the right. It was a small, prefabricated home sitting on a large hill on two acres with a nice pond in the front.

I could see the front door open from halfway down the street. My mother had a hand over her chest.

“Sarah got run over! Sarah got run over!” My mother bounded furiously down the steps and ran down that road faster in flip-flops much faster than I had in my tennis shoes. She never once looked at me or anything else on her desperate journey. Her sights were only set on keeping her daughter alive.

I continued to run all the way to our house. My father stood there looming in the hallway. I couldn’t understand why he just stood there. I told him again that his daughter had been run over. He walked slowly to the phone and started dialing. He only dialed one number before asking, “This is a joke, isn’t it?”

A neighbor took me over to her house only a few moments later. My father disappeared to join my mother. I wanted so badly to know what was going on. I deserved to be with my sister. She was my best friend. A friend of my mother’s picked my up nearly thirty minutes later. She had a daughter that was my age that was a friend of my sister and I.

At their house I watched the movie ‘Never Ending Story’ nearly all the way through. I spent most of the time crying by myself though. It was then that Mrs. Cramer came to me and said it was time to go home. She looked tired and her daughter was crying hysterically. I was only confused. No one told me anything. I just wanted to see my sister and make sure she was going to okay. She was going to just fine, I never doubted that for one minute.

Mrs. Cramer stopped the car halfway down the driveway and told her daughter to go pick a rose from the rosebushes in their front yard. She only cried more as she did so.

When we finally got back to my house there were people everywhere. Friends, neighbors, family, and police. My father grabbed me by the shoulders and led me to an old wooden swing just in front of the house. He sat beside me and without any fanfare or explanation he said, “Tim, your sister is dead.”

Yes, that is the day my life began, eight days before Christmas. It changed the way I feel about people and events. Christmas presents aren’t the most important things in life? Family and friends are. I cherish and respect every living day. I learned early on that you must let the ones you love know that you love them. Thirteen years later I still cry when I think about my sister and that terrible day. I don’t remember much about her and I can’t even picture what she looks like in my mind. But I do know this; I know I loved her.

~Author Unknown

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James