I have an unexplained connection to Anne Frank, ever since I was a little girl. Last night, while scanning through some obscure television channels, I happened upon “The Diary of Anne Frank.” So, instead of the Tonys, I sat watching it again. For some reason, there is compulsion to watch, to remember, it seems to come from the depths of memory or soul. I wrote this blog a couple of years ago, but today is Anne’s birthday, a good day to share it again.
August 4, 1944 ~~ Anne Frank is captured.
Today’s blog breathes life into a memory stored for nearly half a century.
It is a moment I have never forgotten; it is “written” in my heart, perhaps the reason I write today.
It is the memory of a little girl and her mother who went to the local MacDonald’s for lunch one afternoon.
This little girl had dark eyes and dark hair and shared a strong resemblance with another little girl, though not of her time.
While in MacDonald’s waiting in line, another little girl and her mother walked in. Immediately, this little girl started yelling and pointing her finger, saying “Look mommy, it’s Anne Frank.”
I remember the awkward, frozen silence between two moms and two “shaken” girls……
From that day since, every time Anne’s eyes look up at me from upon the page of a book, there is a twinge of remembrance from the little girl inside me….
Today’s blog stirs this twinge………
It is taken from an excerpt from Thomas Moore’s book, “Care of the Soul.”
In it, Moore relates the true story of a thirteen year old girl with cystic fibrosis. With the wisdom of Anne Frank, she faced the reality of her situation.
After she died, her broken hearted mother read a page from her diary. It said, “I will live the life that is given.”
Today, I aspire to live the life that is given to the best of my ability, to reach for the higher rung on the ladder.
For all of us, whether we run, walk, crawl, push a wheelchair, or tiptoe lightly across an attic floor……let us all aspire to move forward in reach of that higher rung.
Somewhere in Heaven, I like to think Annelies Marie Frank is watching over a very wise, thirteen year old Angel.
The diaries of little girls who leave too soon can bring such lessons for the living……
If you haven’t realized it by now, the little girl in MacDonald’s was me.
My son took this photo of the Frank house in the Netherlands for me. Somehow, I think my aspiration to write and be remembered for my words is connected to her.