Hannah and the Dusty Stars - Grandreams Limited
Perhaps I should explain why at 21, I'm reviewing an obscure board book. I must warn you, this story will be painful..
You see, I have a shelf here on Goodreads that I've recently created called "books I would've read as a girl" That's a shelf for all the books for girls/children, that, knowing the type of girl I was back then {and my interests haven't changed much} that I would've picked up eagerly. They're either books from my generation that I've heard others speak about with nostalgia or books of the 21st century that I would've liked if I was a child now. I guess you could say if I read those books now that reading them wouldn't be the same as reading them through a childs eyes, but reading them makes me nostalgic for the childhood I imagine I could've had and never did.

I don't want to be a debby downer, and I'm certainly not trying to make anyone feel bad for me, but this book is more special than you can understand to me, and I want to tell you the story behind it.

As a little girl I had a very violent, isolated and painful childhood which resulted in some trauma on my end. Now, looking back at myself, I always knew I was a bookworm, though this is the only book I ever picked up until I was out of my situation at fifteen. I loved words and I gobbled them up when I had the chance, even though in the conditions I lived in it was near impossible to find things to read, and when I did, they were quickly taken away. I never went to school in what you would say is the normal way, so I was never exposed to reading as most of you are as children. I lost my biological mother when I was very very young, and let's just say..the wrong people "raised" me.

You may be wondering how I came across this book. Well, before my mother passed {and she was with me until I was 1 1/2-2} I was given this book as a gift from my grandmother on my first birthday, just a few months before her passing, along with my grandmothers. Several years later, when I was about 8, I in tears in the room I was kept in, making up stories in my head and making shadow puppets when I saw something sticking out from behind a moldy box. This book.

The second I opened it I swear I could remember my mothers voice reading it to me on her lap, although I was a toddler. It made me weep, but it gave me comfort in those harsh times when I thought I would be with her, and sometimes I had wished I could be, to escape all that pain.

I was taken to a much better place {although far too late} but I still have my mothers copy of this book in my nightstand drawer and I open it when I miss my mother--sometimes I get very sad, thinking of her and all the things I missed. The semi-normal happy childhood with hugs and birthdays and someone to read to me every night..and other times I'm happy because I know my mother would be proud of how far I've come and how much stronger I'm getting, though I still struggle to keep the shadows at bay. I know I'll always love her and I will never ever get rid of this book. I'm sure she loves me too.

I read it again tonight after dinner.