A friend shared with me a 80 pages family memo his mom wrote. It was beautifully written, edited, printed with family pictures in between and a family tree at the end. When I browsed through the pages I was really impressed by the beaufy of the language, the sense of homour, the spiritual in between the lines. It was a story of a woman who was raised in a decent family in Europe, had to flee Europe to Canada in World War Two, went through all the hardships and finally settled down and raised her own family here in Toronto.
I can imagine the intensive intimacy if I were her kids receiving this memo.
I wish I could be like her when I am in my 80s. And secretly I am wishing one day I could meet her in person to express my admiration.