It’s my 5 favorite reads of the year! And don’t miss the book that made honorable mention or the one blog I read every single week.
Reading a book about a friend who lost her mom to suicide would probably be difficult for most folks to digest, but even knowing my own history, I didn’t comprehend how deeply this story would echo in the chambers of my soul. I don’t do book formal reviews. But sometimes a book comes across your desk that is so powerful, you have to tell others about it.
I was twelve when my mom killed herself. My parents were divorced. My dad was remarried and lived nearby. My older brother lived in his own apartment, so it was just me and my mom making our way.
She sometimes left me home alone when she went out drinking. I begged her to stay home, but she would only promise to be home by a certain time. My neediness was useless to change anything.
I slept at my dad’s house the night my mom died. More accurately, I moved in. A few blocks were all that separated the houses—a slight but infinite distance. This time the sleepover wouldn’t end. When the sun rose I wouldn’t have a home to return to. Home as I knew it had vanished.