Several years ago, a young man from a church neighboring my own was given a severe cancer diagnosis seemingly overnight. Though the cancer was detected early and swiftly acted upon by doctors, the disease was spreading rapidly nonetheless—a terminal diagnosis seemed imminent.

While I’ve always enjoyed writing, it wasn’t until after my father passed away that I truly took up my pen and got to work.

Though my grandmother didn’t speak much English, I loved her very much. More importantly, I knew that she loved me even more than could be imagined—no words in any language were needed to convey that reality. While my grandmother passed away some time ago,—almost fifteen years now—she remains in my memory as one of the warmest, kindest, and sweetest souls that I’ve ever known.