I recently saw the musical Annie for the second time in my life. The first time was the day my grandmother died. I was nine years old.

I was supposed to see the musical with my parents, but they ended up sending me with a friend and her mom, so they could begin making the funeral arrangements without me underfoot. That day was, and still remains, one of the most grief-filled days of my life, mainly because I considered my grandmother to be one of my best friends. She was really the only grandparent that I ever knew, and oddly enough, we had many of the same likes and interests. As a result, she and I were very close. She was a good friend, a loyal listener, and loads of fun. Her house was a magical place where I got to stay up late, eat my favorite foods, and where a make-believe mouse deposited a piece of candy on the nightstand while I slept.

My grandmother left me with many sweet memories, but some of her own childhood remembrances weren’t as good. Like Annie, she almost became an orphan at a very young age, because both of her parents had died by the time she was ten years old. Fortunately, her maternal grandmother intervened and volunteered to raise her, so she didn’t have to go to an orphanage. Her grandmother had a profoundly positive influence on her life, just as she had on mine.

Despite her early losses, I never heard my grandmother complain. Instead, she was usually thinking about other people. What I still appreciate most was her compassion for those around her. Happily, I was often the recipient of her good nature. This example of compassion has inspired a character in a book that I’m currently writing. It’s also inspired me to have more compassion for my other characters, especially when I question their actions and motives, and it’s prevented me from always insisting that they do what I think is best. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it’s inspired me to have compassion for myself as a writer, knowing that things will not be perfect on the first draft, or even on the tenth. But, perhaps the gift is in the message and not in every nuanced imperfection of the tale.

How I wish I could share my stories with my grandmother today. I will certainly always treasure the ones that we lived together so many years ago.