Mrs. Hanson rushed back into her cozy household, the rain still sliding down her cheeks, and the mail clutched tightly in her hand.

She started shuffling through them, electric bill... phone bill... doctor bill...

An envelope with no return address caught her attention.

Shrugging off any ideas, she tore it open as she took her coat off, and walked towards the couch reading.

To Whom It May Concern:

   Okay, normally I don't do things like this, but before you think I'm a crazed psychopath, *laughing slightly* let me introduce myself.
   My name is Shannon, Shann to those who know me, and my last name really means nothing, *small smile* because I doubt if you could remember it, or if you would want to. In fact, you may even find yourself wishing you never even opened the envelope to read this letter.
   Let me tell a little bit about myself, I am a seventeen year old female, I move a lot with my family, and I enjoy listening to Hanson's music. I bet now you're thinking "another one?" *smiling* But I can assure you, that I may be just a tad different than some fans.
   Hanson has actually inspired me to become a writer again, and to want to live my life. And even though this was actually my mom's idea to write, in a way, I'm glad that I am.
   Truth be known though, I'm actually quite nervous making this out. I doubt that this would be so hard if I knew that you would never read this, due to all the other mail you must receive. But the fear of knowing that you might, is enough for my mouth to go bone dry, and for my hands to shake noticeably.
   I've explained my "Hanson story" a couple times. Mainly to close friends and family, but this time I would like to explain it to you. *wry laugh* Complete strangers, who up until this moment, didn't know I even existed.
   Anyway, I've wanted to thank you for so long now, for letting "Hanson" become such a successful singing group. I've asked my mom several times how I could thank you all for just one thing, but she didn't seem to know how to answer it. I had even went as far as to asking my friends, and I received the same response.
   So now I will ask you the same question, "How do you thank someone, for saving your life?"
   You see, I have thought a great deal on just that question. A regular "thank you" doesn't even begin to sum up all the gratitude that I feel towards Hanson. I mean, Hanson saved me, more than what anyone else could have.
   *deep breath* Now I will try and explain how it is that the "Hanson" family saved me. And I know it sounds surreal, and impossible, and so unlikely, but I was there, and I lived through it, it happened…
   At twelve years old I started the beginning stages of a nervous breakdown. I had no idea what was going on, I just know that I was fighting like hell against something.
   Two years went by, and during those two years, I developed what has been labeled anorexia and bulimia. When my ninth-grade year had started for me, it was in the middle of August in 1996. I was fourteen and a half, and my life could not have been more messed up. Or so I had thought at that time.
   I was getting stress headaches up to twenty times a day. No joke, this seriously was happening to me.
   I was 6'1” at the time, skinny as hell, and sickly white. Many asked if I was on drugs or if I was sick. Sick, yes. On drugs, no.
   Near the end of October, I had gone to a doctor to get checked me out. They took three tubes of my blood, and came to the conclusion that I was just under a lot of stress. WELL THANK YOU DOCTOR!
   Life carried on, or so my parents thought, because now I had my medication. Tell you one thing, those pills can really screw up a body. I had to go out with sunglasses all the time because one of its MANY side-effects was sensitivity to light. Along with…. Bet you would never guess it… headaches.
   Yes, it sure was. To prevent the stress and tension headaches I was prescribed medication that had headaches as a side effect. Smart doctors, huh?
   And, oh, but it was not just sunlight that my eyes became sensitive to. No, no. I had to wear sunglasses even at night. I’d have to wear light purple shaded sunglasses, even into stores… at night! I still do sometimes even though I haven’t had any of that medication in over two years now.
   By around Christmas time I was more messed up than ever. I had reached rock bottom. And I do mean rock bottom. I had severe headaches, and I would throw the most horrendous tantrums over the littlest things. My sister still tells me of times when I would actually throw shoes and coat hangers at her.
   *shaking head sadly* Only I can't remember most of that time period. Sometimes I have flashes of a memory, but I don't know it really happened, or if it's just my imagination.
   At any meal, my hair was in my eyes, because of the bright lights. And I had my left hand placed against my ear, while my other ear was placed against my shoulder as I ate; the noise was too loud for me to handle.
   One time my brother had actually dropped his fork on his plate; I gave a small scream and started choking on my food. I was able to get it back up due to the habit of throwing up my meals, but I had started crying, not because I was afraid that I might've died. But because I did not want to die "that way."
   The idea of dying used to sicken me horribly. It would literally make me throw up. But this time, it didn't make me sick. But it actually made me almost deliriously happy. And I knew that when I started thinking of death as a 'happy thought' that I needed some more help.
   So I went back, calling on my parents for the help I knew I needed. I returned to the same doctor in January, but I didn't mention anything about my thoughts on death. My mother was in the room, and I knew that it would kill her if I did.
   The lady doctor still said that it was because I was just nervous and stressed out over the beginning of my freshman year. I wanted to laugh in her face for that because I didn't take much notice of school. Let alone my friends, the teachers or the schoolwork. The way that my mind was working, it was as if I was just getting up in the morning after two hours of sleep, going to a building and walking around for a few hours a day. That was my idea of school.
   When I came back home from the doctor's, my father had sat me down in the front room in front of my siblings, without my mom present, (While playing a Play-Station game) and asked if I was taking drugs.
   That question threw me so off guard. Never once in my life had I touched a drug. I had never been curious of trying it, or wanting to see what any looked like up close and personal.
   I had cried then too, screaming that the accusation was unfair. I don't remember much, but I remember the looks of concern on some of my family members' faces, and those with confirmation that I was on them. I only grew more scared, and more desperate.
   A few days later, my mom approached me with the idea of home school. She showed me a pamphlet for the program by James Madison High School. That way I could drop out of public school, and stay home to recover over whatever it was that I was suffering from.
   I agreed almost readily. Wanting the time to myself to collect whatever thoughts I might have had left. Wanting to salvage what was left of my life.
   On Valentine's Day, I gave myself the greatest gift I could ever have received. I dropped out of high school. I was fifteen by now, and I thought that dropping out of public school was the smartest move I had ever made. I regretted thinking that shortly after, because it had seemed as if I was thrown into depression.
   Days and weeks flew by, and I wouldn't even notice. I wouldn't even care. Nothing mattered to me anymore. Nothing.
   I was spending my nights, praying and begging to God to strike me down dead. I remember saying that so many times, with tears streaking my face as I curled into a fetal position, before I fell asleep, passed out from exhaustion.
   I spent so much time doing that, that after a while, I knew that he wasn't going to. I vaguely remember thinking that there was no God. Or that he wasn't as merciful as I thought he was.
   So to get back at whatever God there was, I was going to take my own life. I was going to save myself from the hell that I had come to live in. Because I did not want to spend another day in mindless agony.
   The next day I had removed the blanket covering one window that had kept my room in complete darkness. I smiled slightly, the feeling odd because it had been so long since I had done it.
   Now I cannot give the date or the month, or even the day, because I was so out of it. But I thought to myself how lucky I would be to leave earth on such a day.
   Turning on my TV to drown out the noises that I'd be making; I carefully devised out my plan of suicide. My father had just started using his old razor, where you actually buy the razor blades and put them in.
   After I had gotten up to retrieve one, I noticed the TV for the first time; it was on channel 26, MTV. I had just caught the ending of a video. Three kids had been jumping around and running on my screen, smiling.
   I was angered… furious. There I was about to end my life, because it had no meaning, because it was so horrible, because I had nothing, and these three people, these three kids! Were happy?
   I couldn't understand it. Happiness was such a foreign thought to me at that time that I thought that everyone would have been depressed and shattered like I was.
   In frustration I had to satisfy my curiosity, I decided to put off my plan and watch more of MTV, hoping to catch the video full time. After all… I did have the next day if I needed it. But I just had to know why these kids were happier than I was. I needed to know.
   A few hours later, it did repeat. I couldn't understand most of the words. But I knew I loved it. The beat was unbelievable. I couldn't get it out of my head!
   I didn't know for sure about the keyboardist at the time though. Because I either thought that they were either a girl wearing blush, or just a regular guy that was blushing. All I could tell that whoever it was, their cheeks were red.
   After the song had ended, a VJ came on and talked about the video. I caught few words… "Three brothers… Tulsa, Oklahoma…. Sixteen, fourteen, eleven."
   I could only stare at the screen in shock. No way could that have been true. Two of the band members were younger than I was, and only one of them was older!
   I had sat in front of that screen for a couple hours after that video had aired. I became fascinated… intrigued by those three kids. It was then that I started thinking. I didn't like how my life was, or how I was. I wanted to be happy again. I wanted to start singing again as I did when I was younger. I had wanted everything at that moment!
   And so I started. I started writing poetry again, I started singing again, and I started learning as much as I could about "Hanson."
   I've started singing and writing songs with a very good and close friend of mine, I have three courses left before I graduate high school, and I am currently busy writing a book, that my aunt says she can probably get published.
   I have my life back…. How can you thank someone for such a gift? For giving it to me?
   And I know that there is a God, I've always known that, and I know that suicide is wrong. *sheepish smile* I am Catholic, so I know that what I was thinking and about to attempt to do was extremely wrong.
   *sigh* Now I know this may have be an odd letter, (I know it must be) and I'm sorry if I've worried, upset, or offended you. That was not the purpose of this letter. I had just wanted to say "Thank You" even though; it will never truly cover the gratitude that I feel towards the Hanson family.

The letter dropped carelessly from her fingers... her sons made differences in peoples lives. And great ones for that matter.