In My Adult Life, I Had Spent

The Only Language She Could Speak Was Grief. How Could He Not Know That? Instead, She Said, "i Love You." She Did. She Loved Him. But Even That Didn't Feel Like Anything Anymore.

In Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline Seamlessly Knits Together The Past And Present Of Two Women, One Young And One Old. Kline Reminds Us That We Never Really Lose Anyone Or Anything Or – Perhaps Most Importantly – Ourselves.

In My Adult Life, I Had Spent A Lot Of Time Angry At God, Mostly Over The Sudden Deaths In My Family - My Brother At 30, My Daughter At 5.

My Daughter, Grace, Was Not Killed By A Gun. She Died Suddenly At Age 5 From A Virulent Form Of Strep. As I Stood Stunned In A Church At Her Memorial, One Of The Hardest Things I Heard Someone Say Was, 'i'm Going To Go Home And Hug My Child A Little Tighter.' 'well, Good For You,' I Thought. 'i'm Going To Go Home And Scream.'

I Was A Daughterless Mother. I Had Nowhere To Put The Things A Mother Places On Her Daughter. The Nail Polish I Used To Paint Our Toenails Hardened. Our Favorite Videos Gathered Dust. Her Small Apron Was In A Box In The Attic. Her Shoes - The Sparkly Ones, The Leopard Rain Boots, The Ballet Slippers - Stood In A Corner.