Debbie Macomber - Hannahs List

Dearest friends,

My readers tell me they enjoy learning the genesis of a story. The idea for Hannahs List came into being in September 2008, when I had the honor of dining with Paul and Maggie (Peale) Everett. Maggie told me about a friend of hers who knew she was dying. Like my character Hannah, she gave her husband a list of women she felt would make him a good second wife. I was deeply touched by what Id heard and recognized immediately what an act of love such a letter would be. It wasnt long before the premise took shape in my imagination. Soon after that, the central character of Michael, the young pediatrician, appeared. And the rest is this story.

While this is peripherally a Blossom Street book, its more along the lines of Twenty Wishes in that it takes place away from A Good Yarn, Lydia Goetzs store. If youve read the Blossom Street stories, youll remember Winter Adams, the owner of the French Caf. And, naturally, youll be getting updates on some of your favorite characters. Still, this book belongs to Michael and in many ways to Hannah, whom I grew to love and admire in the process of writing the story. When Hannahs List begins, shes been gone a year. She died of ovarian cancer, which is often called a silent killer. Ovarian cancer claimed my own friend, Stephanie Cordall, who was one of the original members of my Thursday morning breakfast group. I encourage you to check out the following Web site, which explains how to identify the symptoms: http://www.mayoclinic.com.

As always Im eager to hear from my readers. Your feedback has guided my career all these years. You can reach me either through my Web site at www.DebbieMacomber.com or at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

To Maggie Peale Everett in appreciation of a wonderful idea

Chapter One

I am not a sentimental guy. Ive been known to forget Mothers Day and, once, when Hannah and I were dating, I even let Valentines go unnoticed. Fortunately she didnt take my lapse too seriously or see it as any reflection of my feelings. As for anniversaries and birthdays, Im a lost cause. In fact, Id probably overlook Christmas if it wasnt for all the hoopla. Its not that Im selfabsorbed Well, maybe I am, but arent we all to a certain extent?

To me, paying a lot of attention to people because its their birthday or some made-up holiday is ridiculous. When you love someone, you need to show that love each and every day. Why wait for a certain time of year to bring your wife flowers? Action really does speak louder than words, especially if its a loving deed, something you do 10 for no particular reason. Except that you want to. Because you care.

Hannah taught me that. Hannah. A year ago today, May eighth, I lost her, my beautiful thirty-six-year-old wife. Even now, a whole year after her death, I cant think of her without my gut twisting into knots.

A year. Three hundred and sixty-five lonely days and empty nights.

A few days after her death, I stood over Hannahs casket and watched as it was lowered into the ground. I threw the first shovelful of dirt into her grave. Ill never forget that sound. The hollow sound of earth hitting the coffins gleaming surface.

Not an hour passes that I dont remember Hannah. Actually, thats an improvement. In those first few months, I couldnt keep her out of my head for more than a minute. Everything I saw or heard reminded me of Hannah. To simply say I loved her would diminish the depth of my feelings. In every way she completed me. Without her, my world is bleak and colorless and a thousand other adjectives that dont begin to describe the emptiness Ive felt since shes been gone.

I talk to her constantly. I suppose I shouldnt tell people that. Weve had this ongoing one-sided conversation from the moment she smiled up at me one last time and surrendered her spirit to God. So, here I am a year later, pretending to enjoy the Seattle Mariners baseball game when all I can think about is my wife. My one-year-dead wife.

Ritchie, Hannahs brother and my best friend, invited me to share box seats for this game. Im not fooled. Im well aware that my brother-in-law didnt include me out of some mistaken belief that Im an inveterate baseball fan. He knows exactly what anniversary this is.

I might not be sentimental, but this is one day I cant forget.

As a physician, a pediatrician, Im familiar with death. Ive witnessed it far too often and its never easy, especially with children. Even when the end is peaceful and serene as it was with Hannah, I feel Ive been cheated, that Ive lost. As a teenager I was involved in sports. I played football in the fall, basketball in winter and baseball in the spring, and worked as a lifeguard during the summers. The competitive spirit is a natural part of who I am. I dont like to lose, and death, my adversary, doesnt play fair. Death took Hannah from me, from all of us, too early. She was the most vibrant, joyful, loving woman I have ever known. Ive been floundering ever since.

Although Ive fought death, my enemy, from the day I became a doctorits why I became a doctorI learned to understand it in a different, more complex way. I learned death can be a friend even while its the enemy. As she lay dying, Hannah, who loved me so completely and knew me so well, showed me that ultimate truth. A years time has given me the perspective to realize I did my wife a disservice. My biggest regret is that I refused to accept the fact that she was dying. As a result I held on to her far longer than I should have. I refused to relinquish her when she was ready to leave me. Selfishly, I couldnt bear to let her go.

Even when shed drifted into unconsciousness I sat by her bedside night and day, unable to believe that there wouldnt be a miracle. Its stupid; as a medical professional I certainly know better. Yet I clung to her. Now I realize that my stubbornness, my unwillingness to release her to God, held back her spirit. Tied her to earth. To me. When I recognized the futility of it all, when I saw what I was doing to Hannahs parents and to Ritchie, I knew I had to let her go. I left Hannahs room and got hold of myself. I hadnt slept in days, hadnt eaten. Nor had I shaved, which means I probably looked even more pathetic than I felt. I went back to our home, showered, forced down a bowl of soup and slept for three uninterrupted hours. When I returned, the immediate family had gathered around her bedside. Hannahs heart rate had slowed and it was only a matter of minutes. Then, just before she died, she opened her eyes, looked directly at me and smiled. I held her hand and raised it to my lips as she closed her eyes and wasgone.

That last smile will stay with me forever. Every night as I press my head against the pillow, the final image in my mind is Hannahs farewell smile.

Hey, Michael. A beer? Ritchie asked. He doesnt call me Mike; no one does. Even as a kid, I was never a Mike.

Sure. My concentration wasnt on the game or on much of anything, really. Without glancing at the scoreboard I couldnt have told you who was ahead. I wentthrough the motions, jumped to my feet whenever Ritchie did. I shouted and made noise along with the rest of the crowd, but I didnt care about the game. I hadnt cared about anything for a long timeexcept my work. That had become my salvation.

How about dinner after the game? Ritchie asked as he handed me a cold beer a few minutes later.

I hesitated. All that awaited me was an empty house and my memories of Hannah.

Sure. I didnt have much of an appetite, though. I rarely did these days.

Great. He took a long swig of beer and turned back to the field.

I hadnt done my brother-in-law any favors by agreeing to attend this game. These werent cheap seats, either. Ritchie had paid big bucks for box seats behind home plate, and Id basically ignored the entire game. I shouldve made an excuse and let him take someone else. But I didnt want to be alone. Not today. Every other day of the year I was perfectly content with my own company. But not today. The game must have been over because, almost before I was aware of it, people were leaving.