I bought my parents home. I grew up in this home, so there are memories, some good, some not so. I moved out when I was almost 16 for a reason. My father left behind a lot of belongings, a lot of them were my mother's things. Today I found her books. I was crawling through the crawl space. Yes, I now it was only 4 am, but I am a night shift worker. I don't have room for all of them, but some I can't part with. Her reading style was much like mine is now, only she used these books as a way to escape a not so wonderful existense.
Her life was not easy. My grandmother was a very demanding woman and tried to control her life because she didn't want to take care of my grandfather herself. He had paranoid schizophrenia, and her had it bad. He saw stuff that wasn't there, heard stuff, and thought the government was out to get him. He was a recipient of the agent orange after serving in korea. My dad, he was abusive both physically and mentally.
I remember when she first found out she had cancer, "Maybe it will finally be an end to all of this. Maybe it will kill me." Thos words will always stick with me. She wouldn't treat her cancer at first hoping it would kill her. The pain got too much for her to handle, so she finally went to the doc.
Books, hmmm... these need a good home, and I think the book shelf at work is the best home possible, a lot of my clients escape through reading also.