Herman Wouk. Ken Follett. David Baldacci. Barack Obama. What do these authors have in common? They all kept my mother company at one time or another. Books were her passion (or at least one of them) for as long as I can remember.

When I visited her, we always made a trip to the library. She was highly independent, so I never “helped” her find books. Instead, I would find a chair near the many stacks, and watch her browse. This brought an almost physical sensation of deep contentment. I loved simply being in a library.

With our Kindles, Amazon apps, Libby etc.; there is less need to go to the brick-and-mortar library. I know very well that not only are the devices convenient, but they also provide much broader access to stories than a library ever could.

But the memory of Mom made me realize I miss the spirit of the library; its atmosphere and quiet activity. I thought about watching Mom walk those aisles, deep in concentration and the joy it brought. So, last Saturday, I left my husband to some college football, and I serendipitously drove to the library.

Walking in, I smiled. It’s October, and the decorations were out with black cats and pumpkins. There were cut-outs of happy ghosts swaying from the ceiling near the children’s section. They had “scary” books prominently displayed.

I walked by an elderly man at the main desk. He was returning some overdue books, but forgot his wallet. I saw a student making copies of something at the copy machine. The machine hummed, and the library did too, with a certain quiet energy.

I headed towards the stacks, pausing, reading titles. I moved slowly. I felt like I could be walking in Mom’s shadow. And that contentment seeped in. I suspected it was part nostalgia too, as I loved going to the library as a young girl.

I heard only whispers. A couple joined me in one aisle; they were looking for a specific book. They moved away. They needed the Cs.

I found myself in the mystery section. I was walking past “G” when I noticed Sue Grafton. Back in my 20s, I used to love her alphabet-titled books. I think I stopped reading the series with “P” is for Peril.

Eventually, I chose a technical thriller, a genre I hadn’t read in years, and found an oversized, comfortable chair to relax in and read. That spirit of the place was welcoming me in and telling me to stay for as long as I wanted.

I looked up to watch an older man finish with one newspaper at a table and return with another. He must have done that four times. No digital subscriptions for him; it’s wonderful that the library can still provide that service and variety.

I read in my comfortable chair for a while. My mind drifted to our eight-month-old grandson who has already been to his library many times. The parent(s) are given the same book and they read it together as they sit in a circle in the children’s section. Their babies also move their hands and legs in song. That spirit of the library is already getting inside.

I think about the generations, from great-great-grandparents down to the very youngest in the family, sharing a continuity within these special walls. It’s a beautiful tradition. I had almost forgotten how much libraries mean to me; I cannot resist that unique connection and community, and calm I feel there.

I checked out the book (I was happy my card still worked!) This meant that I would need to come back within three weeks to return it; an obligation which resembles more of a gift.

I cannot recommend enough returning to your library if you haven’t been there in a while. The old feelings bubble right up, and it feels good.

If there’s time, scan the rows of books and pull one out to read the back. If it’s not the choice, return it to the shelf, keeping your eyes open. Perhaps it’s a little further down. You will definitely find one. Or, maybe just find a seat and take in the activity: people working on computers at tables, the reference librarian helping a student; visitors exploring for that perfect next book.

Everyone was doing their thing; quietly, contentedly, grateful for this amazing oasis in a noisy, too-busy world; grateful that new knowledge and possibility are only a row or two away. I was grateful that day. I got to be a part of it.

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