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Hannah's list / Debbie Macomber.

By: Macomber, Debbie.
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookSeries: Blossom Street: 7.Publisher: Don Mills, Ont. : Mira Books, 2010Description: 412 pages ; 25 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 9780778327806(hbk).Subject(s): Widowers -- Fiction | Mate selection -- Fiction | Seattle (Wash.) -- FictionGenre/Form: General fiction. | Romance fiction.DDC classification: Summary: On the anniversary of his beloved wife's death, Michael receives a letter Hannah had written him. She makes one final request-- she's chosen three women, and asks him to consider them as a new wife. He's a man who needs the completeness only love can offer-- and the list leads him to a woman who can help him find it.
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Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:



My darling Michael, I know this letter will come as a shock to you....

On the anniversary of his beloved wife's death, Dr. Michael Everett receives a letter Hannah had written him.

In it she reminds him of her love and makes one final request. An impossible request--I want you to marry again. She tells him he shouldn't spend the years he has left grieving her. And to that end she's chosen three women she asks him to consider.

First on Hannah's list is her cousin, Winter Adams, a trained chef who owns a café on Seattle's Blossom Street. The second is Leanne Lancaster, Hannah's oncology nurse. Michael knows them both. But the third name is one he's not familiar with--Macy Roth.

Each of these three women has her own heartache, her own private grief. More than a year earlier, Winter broke off her relationship with another chef. Leanne is divorced from a man who defrauded the hospital for which she works. And Macy lacks family of her own, the family she craves, but she's a rescuer of strays, human and animal. Macy is energetic, artistic, eccentric--and couldn't be more different from Michael.

During the months that follow, he spends time with Winter, Leanne and Macy, learning more about each of them...and about himself. Learning what Hannah already knew. He's a man who needs the completeness only love can offer. And Hannah's list leads him to the woman who can help him find it.

On the anniversary of his beloved wife's death, Michael receives a letter Hannah had written him. She makes one final request-- she's chosen three women, and asks him to consider them as a new wife. He's a man who needs the completeness only love can offer-- and the list leads him to a woman who can help him find it.

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Excerpt provided by Syndetics

I am not a sentimental guy. I've been known to forget Mother's Day and, once, when Hannah and I were dating, I even let Valentine's go unnoticed. Fortunately she didn't take my lapse too seriously or see it as any reflection of my feelings. As for anniversaries and birthdays, I'm a lost cause. In fact, I'd probably overlook Christmas if it wasn't for all the hoopla. It's not that I'm self-absorbed... Well, maybe I am, but aren't we all to a certain extent? To me, paying a lot of attention to people because it's 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 it's a loving deed, something you do 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 can't 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 Hannah's casket and watched as it was lowered into the ground. I threw the first shovelful of dirt into her grave. I'll never forget that sound. The hollow sound of earth hitting the coffin's gleaming surface. Not an hour passes that I don't remember Hannah. Actually, that's an improvement. In those first few months, I couldn't 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 don't begin to describe the emptiness I've felt since she's been gone. I talk to her constantly. I suppose I shouldn't tell people that. We've 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, Hannah's brother and my best friend, invited me to share box seats for this game. I'm not fooled. I'm well aware that my brother-in-law didn't include me out of some mistaken belief that I'm an inveterate baseball fan. He knows exactly what anniversary this is. I might not be sentimental, but this is one day I can't forget. As a physician, a pediatrician, I'm familiar with death. I've witnessed it far too often and it's never easy, especially with children. Even when the end is peaceful and serene as it was with Hannah, I feel I've been cheated, that I've 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 don't like to lose, and death, my adversary, doesn't 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. I've been floundering ever since. Although I've fought death, my enemy, from the day I became a doctor--it's why I became a doctor--I learned to understand it in a different, more complex way. I learned death can be a friend even while it's the enemy. As she lay dying, Hannah, who loved me so completely and knew me so well, showed me that ultimate truth. A year's 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 couldn't bear to let her go. Even when she'd drifted into unconsciousness I sat by her bedside night and day unable to believe that there wouldn't be a miracle. It's 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. Excerpted from Hannah's List by Debbie Macomber All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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Publishers Weekly Review

Macomber (Summer on Blossom Street) delves into a Seattle widower's pursuit of love in her hopeful latest. Hannah Everett dies at 36 of ovarian cancer, leaving behind a letter for her pediatrician husband, Michael Everett, to be opened on the first-year anniversary of her death. In it, she suggests he consider one of three women as his next wife: her cousin, chef Winter Adams; Leanne Lancaster, Hannah's divorced oncology nurse; and Macy Roth, a ditzy, animal-loving artist. As Macomber reveals each woman and how they react to Michael's sometimes halfhearted pursuit, the strongest personality is Macy, so it shouldn't be surprising where things head. Macomber's tale of getting on with life is charming enough, though Hannah's cancer battle is glossed over, and the conceit of Michael considering marriage so soon is a little unrealistic. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved