EXCERPT: 'Notes Left Behind'

Nov. 5, 2009— -- Elena Dessrich was a little girl full of love and an ever-present curiousity about life. When she was diagnosed with brain cancer shortly before her sixth birthday, she began to leave little pieces of herself behind in the form of love notes that she hid away for her parents and sister to find after she'd gone.

Desserich's parents, Brooke and Keith Desserich, told her story in their book "Notes Left Behind."

After reading the excerpt below, head to the "GMA" Library to find more good reads.

Day 1 -- NOVEMBER 29

It began early. We called it "binner." With her IV surgery scheduled for 7 a.m., the last time she could eat was 1 in the morning. So at midnight I woke her up to a breakfast/dinner of yogurt -- except the nurse forgot to order yogurt before the kitchen closed and we ended up with a meal of pudding and applesauce instead. From 1 a.m. to dawn we talked about "Alice in Wonderland," her new discovery of the TV remote and what she always wanted to do. And although I couldn't always understand her words because of the tumor, I could usually understand her drawings.

First came a circle with squiggly lines. This was where she wanted to go -- the only problem was that I did not know what she was telling me. After several tries and more than enough frustration on her part, I figured out that she was talking about the "little restaurant" -- the chili parlor a mile from our house. With this her face lit up as she told me she wanted spaghetti and cheese. This was a remarkably simple request and we added it to the list. The next one was a bit harder: the Eiffel Tower. To this day, I still don't know where she came up with this one. Regardless, this was the list and what we needed to accomplish. From there the list continued to the "street of dresses," which I immediately recognized as a wedding dress district in our town, but I feigned ignorance. It was the same street I had deliberately driven down on the way home with the girls for the past five years, while telling them to pick out their dresses. Now she was asking me to take her to the same shops that I had always envisioned taking her to when she was engaged. Now I questioned if she would ever make it that far. Still, it went on the list.

As the night went on, we continued to talk. She wanted to talk and I wanted to listen. Sleep was not as important as it was three days ago. I watched her face illuminated by the lights on the heart monitor wondering if I would remember every detail: the softness of her cheeks, the dancing glow of her eyes, the innocence of her thoughts. But was it all a nightmare? Would I awake tomorrow and the tumor would simply be gone? Maybe this was just a lesson from life and by tomorrow the tumor would miraculously disappear. I could only hope.

That night, the doctors sent us home for rest, but after they told us that our daughter had only 135 days to live, sleep wasn't in our plans. Still we smiled, wiped the tears from our eyes and tried to pretend that everything was all right. But it was Elena who had the best suggestion. Before leaving, she wanted to celebrate Christmas. So we took time to carefully find her precious Jesus and angel ornaments and hang them on the tree that the grandparents had hastily put up only minutes before. Ironic, because in previous years, I'd always insisted on not putting up the tree before December 15. Still, this year it couldn't come soon enough. Brooke read the girls a book before bed. It was the longest book we could find.