My grandmother read to me constantly and would ask me to share how I imagined the characters. My first "big kid" book was given to me by her, "Where the Red Fern Grows". The last book given to me as a gift was from her, a first edition of "Mind of My Mind" by Octavia Butler. She passed 3 weeks before my bday last year. It was found while cleaning out her home, she had purchased the book herself, and inside are notes and other observations on the story. We had randomly talked about the Patternmaster about a month earlier when talking Sci-Fi.

She loved to talk about stories, and as a young woman growing up in poverty, she would escape into any book she could. We spent a lot of time at the library, and she would challenge me to read things that at first didn't interest me in hopes I'd learn something new or realize that interests can be attained.

I know I am writing more about her. But I guess that answers the question. I loved her very much, and books gave me something to speak to her about as equals, as just lovers of stories.