Reading it felt like sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of tea, listening to a mother gently prepare me for the moments I dread the most. Suzy’s letters—full of recipes, advice, rituals, and small comforts—were more than instructions; they were love preserved in ink. And Hallie’s illustrations made everything feel tender, warm, and human, even when the subject matter pressed hard on my heart.
I kept pausing between pages, imagining what my own mother might say if she could write me a book like this. Sometimes I laughed, sometimes I felt that sting behind my eyes, but mostly I felt held. It’s strange to say a book about loss can be comforting, but this one is. It doesn’t lecture or pretend; instead, it walks with you day by day through grief—slowly, imperfectly, honestly.
By the time I reached the end, I didn’t feel instructed. I felt accompanied.
10 Lessons I Took From the Book
1. Love can continue even in absence.
The book’s entire structure—letters written for a future in which Suzy is gone—reminds me that relationships don’t vanish with death. The love stays, reshaped but present.
2. Grief needs small steps, not big ones.
Each letter offers guidance for a specific day, even the tiniest tasks. Grief isn’t conquered; it’s lived minute by minute, day by day.
3. Rituals are anchors.
Things like making a sandwich the way Mom taught or reading a poem can ground you when everything feels disoriented.
4. Food is emotional memory.
Recipes appear throughout the book, and they feel like edible versions of comfort—proof that things we make with our hands can soothe our hearts.
5. You’re allowed to laugh, even in mourning.
Suzy includes humor, unexpected and sweet, which taught me that laughter doesn’t betray grief; it gives it breath.
6. Your future still matters.
The mother’s letters remind the daughter—and, by extension, me—that life continues, even after immense loss. Planning for tomorrow is not disrespectful; it’s necessary.
7. You don’t have to be strong every day.
Some letters say “cry today.” Others say “stay in bed.” Grief isn’t linear, and permission to fall apart is part of healing.
8. Ask for help.
Whether from friends, family, or small comforts, the book emphasizes that grief is too heavy to carry alone.
9. Creativity can be healing.
Hallie’s drawings show how art becomes a container for feelings too difficult to articulate. Expression itself becomes a coping tool.
10. Preparing for death is an act of deep love.
Rather than morbid, the book shows that making plans—emotional and practical—for after you're gone is one of the most caring things someone can do for the people they love.
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