“What kind of world is this? And what do you do about it? What do you do when the worst thing that can happen actually happens?”

“What do you do when the worst thing that can happen actually happens?”

“... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?”

“I gasp, because isn't that just exactly what I've been doing too: writing poems and scattering them to the winds with the same hope as Gram that someone, someday, somewhere might understand who I am, who my sister was, and what happened to us.”

“Grief and love are conjoined, you don't get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy.”

“This is the secret I kept from you, Bails,from myself too:I think I liked that Mom was gone,that she could be anybody,anywhere,doing anything.I liked that she was our invention,a woman living on the last page of the storywith only what we imaginedspread out before her.I liked that she was ours, alone.”

“How will I survive this missing? How do others do it? People die all the time. Every day. Every hour. There are families all over the world staring at beds that are no longer slept in, shoes that are no longer worn. Families that no longer have to buy a particular cereal, a kind of shampoo. There are people everywhere standing in line at the movies, buying curtains, walking dogs, while inside, their hearts are ripping to shreds. For years. For their whole lives. I don't believe time heals. I don't want it to. If I heal, doesn't that mean I've accepted the world without her?”