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Comfort: A Journey Through Grief
A moving and remarkable memoir about the sudden death of a daughter, surviving grief, and learning to love again.
In 2002, Ann Hood's five-year-old daughter Grace died suddenly from a virulent form of strep throat. Stunned and devastated, the family searched for comfort in a time when none seemed possible. Hood—an accomplished novelist—was unable to read or write. She could only reflect on her lost daughter—"the way she looked splashing in the bathtub...the way we sang 'Eight Days a Week.' " One day, a friend suggested she learn to knit. Knitting soothed her and gave her something to do. Eventually, she began to read and write again. A semblance of normalcy returned, but grief, in ever new and different forms, still held the family. What they could not know was that comfort would come, and in surprising ways. Hood traces her descent into grief and reveals how she found comfort and hope again—a journey to recovery that culminates with a newly adopted daughter.
In 2002, Ann Hood's five-year-old daughter Grace died suddenly from a virulent form of strep throat. Stunned and devastated, the family searched for comfort in a time when none seemed possible. Hood—an accomplished novelist—was unable to read or write. She could only reflect on her lost daughter—"the way she looked splashing in the bathtub...the way we sang 'Eight Days a Week.' " One day, a friend suggested she learn to knit. Knitting soothed her and gave her something to do. Eventually, she began to read and write again. A semblance of normalcy returned, but grief, in ever new and different forms, still held the family. What they could not know was that comfort would come, and in surprising ways. Hood traces her descent into grief and reveals how she found comfort and hope again—a journey to recovery that culminates with a newly adopted daughter.
188 pages, Hardcover
First published May 12, 2008
45 people are currently reading
3835 people want to read
About the author
Ann Hood
73 books1,280 followersAnn Hood is the editor of Knitting Yarns: Writers on Knitting and the bestselling author of The Book That Matters Most, The Knitting Circle, The Red Thread, Comfort, and An Italian Wife, among other works. She is the recipient of two Pushcart Prizes, a Best American Spiritual Writing Award, a Best American Food Writing Award, a Best American Travel Writing Award, and the Paul Bowles Prize for Short Fiction. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 266 reviews
March 9, 2009
Shortly after my son was killed, I read Joan Didion's " A Year of Magical Thinking". It was amazing in its description of loss that cannot be shared. However, I must say that Ann Hood has expressed the loss of a child better than anyone I have ever had the discussion with about the personal, singular, life altering experience. I have always said that I only know two women who can understand. Both have lost a child. I also knew two women when I was very young, and it was not until I lost my son that it dawned on me that they rarely talked about the child they had lost. I now understand why.
Ann has also captured the difference between men and women and the fact that all losses of children do not drive a separation between them. I admire her courage to speak her feelings and say that more people should read this book to come to a level of understanding and compassion for anyone who has lost a child. It is different than any other loss.
Ann has also captured the difference between men and women and the fact that all losses of children do not drive a separation between them. I admire her courage to speak her feelings and say that more people should read this book to come to a level of understanding and compassion for anyone who has lost a child. It is different than any other loss.
September 7, 2008
"I believe she would want me to miss her with every cell in my body. And that is how much I ache for her. My arms hurt from not holding her on my lap. My nose aches from not smelling her little-girl sweat and powder and lavender-lotion smell. My eyes sting from not seeing her twirl in ballet class. My ears strain every morning for her calling "Mama!" when she wakes up. My lips reach for her sticky kisses. At night I search for her."
"Or perhaps that is love: a leap of faith, a belief in the impossible, the ability to believe... that a mother's love is so strong that the child she lost can still hear her sing a lullaby."
"I believe in this: good food, the sounds of forks against plates, the perfect blend of flavors. And later, in the night, I believe in the quiet sound of my son's deep breathing as he sleeps; I believe in my husband's hand, resting even in sleep on my breast, trusting, loving, there. Even now, there are still days so beautiful, I almost believe in God."
"Or perhaps that is love: a leap of faith, a belief in the impossible, the ability to believe... that a mother's love is so strong that the child she lost can still hear her sing a lullaby."
"I believe in this: good food, the sounds of forks against plates, the perfect blend of flavors. And later, in the night, I believe in the quiet sound of my son's deep breathing as he sleeps; I believe in my husband's hand, resting even in sleep on my breast, trusting, loving, there. Even now, there are still days so beautiful, I almost believe in God."
October 15, 2016
I hadn’t heard a lot about Comfort: A Journey Through Grief before I decided to buy it; I did so because as far as retrospective illness narratives go, it was unlike anything I’d read before. I have come across and loved a couple of accounts of women who sadly miscarry, and those who have lost adults (husbands or sisters, for instance) to terrible diseases, but I haven’t read anything about the loss of a child. In Comfort, Hood writes about the death and its aftermath of her five-year-old daughter Grace, who passed away from a virulent form of strep throat. In doing so, she also encompasses Grace’s short but worthy life; she writes of her daughter’s favourite activities, and the little quirks which were already such a part of her.
From the outset, I knew it would be honest and heartbreaking. Hood launches the reader, and herself, into the deep end at the book’s very outset; in the harrowing prologue of Comfort, she runs through the supposed ‘coping techniques’ which have been recommended to her, from drinking single malt whisky and taking regular courses of drugs such as Prozac, to reading memoirs about the grief of others. As she writes of this last course of action, ‘But none of them lost Grace. They do not know what it is to lose Grace’.
Comfort is, of course, incredibly emotional; one can feel Hood’s pain and anguish from its opening paragraph. Some of the details were repetitive, but there was a therapeutic element to this; it seemed crucial for Hood to mention different elements or happenings at intervals, just in order to convince herself that everything had happened, and to reinforce the impact which her young daughter had had on people, both in terms of Hood’s nuclear family, and in the wider world.
I very rarely cry whilst reading (yes, I’m one of those people), but Comfort brought me to tears on several occasions. Hood’s work is so candid, so honest; it felt like a real privilege to read. I can only hope that the writing process gave Hood some comfort, and that my paltry review will encourage others to read it whilst also putting across how important this book was to me.
From the outset, I knew it would be honest and heartbreaking. Hood launches the reader, and herself, into the deep end at the book’s very outset; in the harrowing prologue of Comfort, she runs through the supposed ‘coping techniques’ which have been recommended to her, from drinking single malt whisky and taking regular courses of drugs such as Prozac, to reading memoirs about the grief of others. As she writes of this last course of action, ‘But none of them lost Grace. They do not know what it is to lose Grace’.
Comfort is, of course, incredibly emotional; one can feel Hood’s pain and anguish from its opening paragraph. Some of the details were repetitive, but there was a therapeutic element to this; it seemed crucial for Hood to mention different elements or happenings at intervals, just in order to convince herself that everything had happened, and to reinforce the impact which her young daughter had had on people, both in terms of Hood’s nuclear family, and in the wider world.
I very rarely cry whilst reading (yes, I’m one of those people), but Comfort brought me to tears on several occasions. Hood’s work is so candid, so honest; it felt like a real privilege to read. I can only hope that the writing process gave Hood some comfort, and that my paltry review will encourage others to read it whilst also putting across how important this book was to me.
October 3, 2008
Heartbreaking. Not to be read before bed. Not only did I lie awake thinking of all I could lose in my life, but I dreamed of loss as well.
July 27, 2017
A beautifully bittersweet little memoir about the death of Hood’s five-year-old daughter, Grace, from a mutant strep throat infection that attacked all her organs and left her dead in two days. Because it was written as a series of essays that appeared in other publications and anthologies, Hood keeps looping back to the two days Grace spent in the hospital, rehashing the surprise, the terror, and the tragedy. Hood couldn’t write for a full year after Grace’s death. The first piece she wrote, for an anthology about lies, is the bitter prologue to this memoir, in which she mocks all the platitudes her family was offered: “she’s in a better place,” “you’ll see her again,” “you need to walk/write/go to church/therapy,” etc.
For as much as she fiercely denies the lies those well-meaning people told them – chiefly “time will heal” – Hood does seem to have gleaned a modicum of comfort during the six years that passed between Grace’s death and the publication of this memoir. She attributes the initial saving of her life to knitting, a new hobby that usefully occupied her hands and her mind (and the subject of her 2006 novel, The Knitting Circle). She goes on to chronicle the four years that followed Grace’s death: the big things (wondering where God was, trying to have another baby and eventually adopting a little girl from China instead [the theme of her 2010 novel, The Red Thread]) and the small (tallying all the food people gave them, finally summoning the courage to clear out Grace’s bedroom). I’d love to read Hood’s other memoir, about her father’s death from lung cancer, as well as more of her fiction.
For as much as she fiercely denies the lies those well-meaning people told them – chiefly “time will heal” – Hood does seem to have gleaned a modicum of comfort during the six years that passed between Grace’s death and the publication of this memoir. She attributes the initial saving of her life to knitting, a new hobby that usefully occupied her hands and her mind (and the subject of her 2006 novel, The Knitting Circle). She goes on to chronicle the four years that followed Grace’s death: the big things (wondering where God was, trying to have another baby and eventually adopting a little girl from China instead [the theme of her 2010 novel, The Red Thread]) and the small (tallying all the food people gave them, finally summoning the courage to clear out Grace’s bedroom). I’d love to read Hood’s other memoir, about her father’s death from lung cancer, as well as more of her fiction.
March 14, 2014
This will not be a five star for everyone. In fact, I'm not sure what anyone who has not lost a child would get out of it. I'm not even sure what you get out of it if you have lost a child. But for me, the utter dislocation and randomness of grief in its intensity (or not) and its literal insanity (or not), this description of the chaos of the mind rings true.
But. Not for everyone.
But. Not for everyone.
April 19, 2013
This is the story of a mother whose 5yr old daughter dies suddenly from a rare strep infection. The book was published 6 years after her daughter's death. I picked it up at the library because the book jacket mentioned knitting as part of a journey through grief, and I have found my own solace in crocheting. The book is somewhat disjointed, jumping back & forth in time. I had no idea that author had a step-daughter until chapter 9 (of 10). Mother's Days and birthdays and anniversary's of the child's death are mentioned throughout the book but not chronologically...skipping somewhat confusingly from the 3rd year back to the 1st.
But then, I can only be so hard on the author. How *does* one write about grief...about such profound loss. Grief feels totally disjointed, confusing, and foggy. And grief is such a unique and personal experience that it would be impossible to write a book that resonated with everyone. Someone, somewhere will pick up this book, and it will be exactly what they needed.
But then, I can only be so hard on the author. How *does* one write about grief...about such profound loss. Grief feels totally disjointed, confusing, and foggy. And grief is such a unique and personal experience that it would be impossible to write a book that resonated with everyone. Someone, somewhere will pick up this book, and it will be exactly what they needed.
May 6, 2018
The prologue alone would be worth the price of this brief but riveting memoir of the four years following the death of Ann Hood's daughter. Later in the book we learn that she wrote the prologue in one fell swoop, one outburst of rage and torment at the ridiculous things people said to her when they were trying--and failing--to be helpful. It should be required reading for anyone who dares to "comfort" or otherwise advise the grieving.
The rest of the book is organized thematically, so subsequent chapters will speak to some readers more than others, I suspect. This approach causes the timeline to jump about a bit. (I was jarred to discover, for example, relatively late in the book, that the author had a teenage step-daughter.) But it's not designed to be a comprehensive manual on grief; it's a thorough exploration of one woman's experience, with all its particularities. And since grief is always particular, that is utterly appropriate.
The rest of the book is organized thematically, so subsequent chapters will speak to some readers more than others, I suspect. This approach causes the timeline to jump about a bit. (I was jarred to discover, for example, relatively late in the book, that the author had a teenage step-daughter.) But it's not designed to be a comprehensive manual on grief; it's a thorough exploration of one woman's experience, with all its particularities. And since grief is always particular, that is utterly appropriate.
February 12, 2009
I had many books about death and dying recommended to me after Ben, but this was the only one that really "got it", in my opinion. Probably because she also lost a child. I actually had a very hard time reading this, and found myself only reading a page or so at a time. I enjoyed it immensely, though, and plan to buy a copy to reread from time to time.
August 14, 2015
When a 5-year old child dies...Well, I can't really even finish the sentence, much less write a book about it. Such loss is inexplicable. It is impossible to imagine, even by a person like Hood who makes her living from her literary imagination. The talent to do so must be immense.
You have to do honor to yourself, your own emotions, the child, to the death, to the reality of how it happened. The details. The exact details. Details so exact you have to live your own worst nightmare over and over and over and over just to get the details right. Because to get them wrong--purposely wrong--is a sort of blasphemy. Yet you also don't want to sound whiny, or maudlin, like you don't realize other people have lost their kids, too. You have to write about the cold hard facts, and how do you describe emotions at all, especially as cold hard facts?
And you have to write it well, not like a diary or a journal. You have to write it over and over, drafts innumerable, to get the tone of everything above, and everything I can't even think of, just right. It is a high-wire act, a balancing act of art, and therapy, and confessional, and literature, and a sort of diary-journal in memoir form.
I'm a writer--hopefully a pretty good one--and I can't imagine ever being able to do this. Ann Hood, a former (or current?) Rhode Island College professor [full disclosure: I attended RIC but did not have the good fortune to get Ms. Hood as a professor, though of course I did have some good ones] does the high-wire act and succeeds because her writing is that direct, that honest, that good. This book will jab you with its simplicity and it's reality. Not realism, which is a fakeness of literature that makes the unreal real. This book is all real, all the time. It is one of the heavier 186-page book you'll ever read, and read it you should.
It doesn't matter if you've never lost a child. When you reach a certain age, as I guess I have, you've probably lost somebody, and no matter how old they were, I'll bet you thought they weren't old enough. And you're right. At least, I think you are, because that's how I've felt about my loved ones who've died. In fact, I feel that way about everyone I know who've died, even those who were quite old.
More than the death of her child, that's really what Comfort is about: Death. The death of anyone. Anyone you've loved. Anyone you thought died too young. Weren't they all too young?
Of course, it's harder to explain when they are really that young. How do you explain the death of a 5-year old girl? Especially when it's your own daughter, how do you explain that? Another thing this book tells you is that there is no explanation. There's no Why. How can there be? How can we possibly understand why such a thing happens? Hood makes it very clear right away, and reminds us throughout, that she doesn't know why it happened. She doesn't have a belief about it, either.
It happened. That's the source of the grief, and maybe of the comfort.
It happened. And there is no why.
A remarkable work that deserves to be read. When you're done you'll feel something, which is what good books are supposed to make you do.
You have to do honor to yourself, your own emotions, the child, to the death, to the reality of how it happened. The details. The exact details. Details so exact you have to live your own worst nightmare over and over and over and over just to get the details right. Because to get them wrong--purposely wrong--is a sort of blasphemy. Yet you also don't want to sound whiny, or maudlin, like you don't realize other people have lost their kids, too. You have to write about the cold hard facts, and how do you describe emotions at all, especially as cold hard facts?
And you have to write it well, not like a diary or a journal. You have to write it over and over, drafts innumerable, to get the tone of everything above, and everything I can't even think of, just right. It is a high-wire act, a balancing act of art, and therapy, and confessional, and literature, and a sort of diary-journal in memoir form.
I'm a writer--hopefully a pretty good one--and I can't imagine ever being able to do this. Ann Hood, a former (or current?) Rhode Island College professor [full disclosure: I attended RIC but did not have the good fortune to get Ms. Hood as a professor, though of course I did have some good ones] does the high-wire act and succeeds because her writing is that direct, that honest, that good. This book will jab you with its simplicity and it's reality. Not realism, which is a fakeness of literature that makes the unreal real. This book is all real, all the time. It is one of the heavier 186-page book you'll ever read, and read it you should.
It doesn't matter if you've never lost a child. When you reach a certain age, as I guess I have, you've probably lost somebody, and no matter how old they were, I'll bet you thought they weren't old enough. And you're right. At least, I think you are, because that's how I've felt about my loved ones who've died. In fact, I feel that way about everyone I know who've died, even those who were quite old.
More than the death of her child, that's really what Comfort is about: Death. The death of anyone. Anyone you've loved. Anyone you thought died too young. Weren't they all too young?
Of course, it's harder to explain when they are really that young. How do you explain the death of a 5-year old girl? Especially when it's your own daughter, how do you explain that? Another thing this book tells you is that there is no explanation. There's no Why. How can there be? How can we possibly understand why such a thing happens? Hood makes it very clear right away, and reminds us throughout, that she doesn't know why it happened. She doesn't have a belief about it, either.
It happened. That's the source of the grief, and maybe of the comfort.
It happened. And there is no why.
A remarkable work that deserves to be read. When you're done you'll feel something, which is what good books are supposed to make you do.
June 4, 2015
Comfort: A Journey Through Grief was more difficult to read then any other grief book I have read since my son died. Ann Hood’s memories felt familiar. She wrote: “This was the unthinkable, thing every parent fears. And it had come to our house and taken Gracie. When I looked out the window, I wanted her to still be there, making bouquets of chive from the garden laced with purple myrtle. Or when I walked in the kitchen, I expected to find her there, standing on her small wooden chair, plucking one cucumber around after another from her pink plate into her baby-teeth-filled mouth.” Whenever I stand in my kitchen and look over the counter into the keeping room, I expect to see him sitting in the wicker chair biting the edge of his nail as he watched Sports Center. Or when the garage door opens on Friday evening, I expected to see him come through the door with a basket of laundry.
At night when there was no one to talk to, I would read this book and mingle my own stories with Hood’s. She had been where I am and knew how I felt. Other nights the raw emotion was more than I could bear. When she wrote, “When we finally left the hospital, numb and stunned, we picked up Sam at our friends’ house and told him the terrible news. That night, the three of us slept in one bed, holding each other until that cruel bright sun rose,” I relived the night we discovered we had lost my son to suicide. I understood the numbness. I knew what it was like to hold onto to your husband through the rest of the most horrible night of your life. For many nights after reading that, I would lay awake and stare at the ceiling as I combed through memories of his childhood and tried to reconcile my life without my son.
But ultimately those raw emotions were the most comforting. They bore witness to the pain a mother feels when she loses a child. Knowing that you are not alone relieves some of the burden. Thank you, Ann for sharing your story. It has helped me to begin to put words to mine.
At night when there was no one to talk to, I would read this book and mingle my own stories with Hood’s. She had been where I am and knew how I felt. Other nights the raw emotion was more than I could bear. When she wrote, “When we finally left the hospital, numb and stunned, we picked up Sam at our friends’ house and told him the terrible news. That night, the three of us slept in one bed, holding each other until that cruel bright sun rose,” I relived the night we discovered we had lost my son to suicide. I understood the numbness. I knew what it was like to hold onto to your husband through the rest of the most horrible night of your life. For many nights after reading that, I would lay awake and stare at the ceiling as I combed through memories of his childhood and tried to reconcile my life without my son.
But ultimately those raw emotions were the most comforting. They bore witness to the pain a mother feels when she loses a child. Knowing that you are not alone relieves some of the burden. Thank you, Ann for sharing your story. It has helped me to begin to put words to mine.
April 13, 2012
Anyone who has read Ann Hood's works knows she's excellent at her trade.
COMFORT is not her usual offering, but it's a must read, especially for anyone who has lost a child.
Grief following the death of a child is said to be the ultimate grief and Hood testifies to that in this precious book.
In 2002, her five-year-old daughter contracted a virulent strain of strep and within 48 hours, little Grace died. For a long time Hood couldn't write and understandably so.
At someone's suggestion she started knitting and joined a knitting group. The mindlessness involved when knitting seemed to comfort her.
Her first work after the horror was a novel THE KNITTING CIRCLE in which a group of women come together to knit and they each reveal their grief. (Next on my to-read list.)
It was followed by this memoir, subtitled A Journey Through Grief.
Even if it weren't well written (which it is), I'd still have to give it five stars if only for the courage it took to write. By writing COMFORT, Hood had to pick at the places that were healing, make them raw again, and allow us to watch her bleed.
When her son expressed the need of wanting the family to be happy again, the family made a huge decision which you'll find in this story.
Nobody will forget Grace, least of all her mother, but, hopefully the awful pain has eased.
COMFORT is not her usual offering, but it's a must read, especially for anyone who has lost a child.
Grief following the death of a child is said to be the ultimate grief and Hood testifies to that in this precious book.
In 2002, her five-year-old daughter contracted a virulent strain of strep and within 48 hours, little Grace died. For a long time Hood couldn't write and understandably so.
At someone's suggestion she started knitting and joined a knitting group. The mindlessness involved when knitting seemed to comfort her.
Her first work after the horror was a novel THE KNITTING CIRCLE in which a group of women come together to knit and they each reveal their grief. (Next on my to-read list.)
It was followed by this memoir, subtitled A Journey Through Grief.
Even if it weren't well written (which it is), I'd still have to give it five stars if only for the courage it took to write. By writing COMFORT, Hood had to pick at the places that were healing, make them raw again, and allow us to watch her bleed.
When her son expressed the need of wanting the family to be happy again, the family made a huge decision which you'll find in this story.
Nobody will forget Grace, least of all her mother, but, hopefully the awful pain has eased.
October 13, 2015
Although I have never lost a child, I read Hood's memoir with such a visceral reaction: my body tensed, I cried, I yelled aloud, I wrote multiple curse words on multiple pages. . . in short, Hood's writing touched me profoundly. Having just finished Robin Romm's The Mother Garden and Meghan O'Rourke's The Long Goodbye a week earlier, I rated them on Goodreads and looked to the right: there was Comfort: A Journey Through Grief. I had previously read at least two of the chapters when they had appeared as articles in magazines - maybe More, and O - so I ordered Hood's memoir and read it in one sitting. I did not mind that the chapters are not in chronological order or that we discover Hood has a step-daughter only near the end. This memoir is, for me, the most poignant, deeply-felt, expressive and eloquent one on the death of a child I have ever read. In the first chapter alone, as Hood interweaves others' well-intentioned suggestions regarding her grieving with her raw and bitter responses (imagined responses because she is, still, quite polite), I recognized a kindred spirit. Good lord, Ann Hood, you can surely write, even when your heart has been torn and the light of Gracie has seemingly dimmed. Damn.
June 23, 2008
How can one recommend a book that is so sad? Many people would shy away from reading a book about the death of a child. But by not reading Hood's journey through grief, one would miss so much.
Hood's journey, like that of every parent who has lost a child, will never end. It will just get less raw, although at times it will still overwhelm. I do not think I have ever read anything more heartfelt, more eloquent, more full of what a parent goes through when the worst has happened.
Hood's voice is so real and so compelling. I read this book in one sitting, until 2 AM, and was so worn out when I finished. Not because it was 2 AM but because of the emotion I had experienced. I wished that I was able to reach out an hold this grieving family in my arms and make it better. But it will never get better for them.
Hood's journey, like that of every parent who has lost a child, will never end. It will just get less raw, although at times it will still overwhelm. I do not think I have ever read anything more heartfelt, more eloquent, more full of what a parent goes through when the worst has happened.
Hood's voice is so real and so compelling. I read this book in one sitting, until 2 AM, and was so worn out when I finished. Not because it was 2 AM but because of the emotion I had experienced. I wished that I was able to reach out an hold this grieving family in my arms and make it better. But it will never get better for them.
March 19, 2011
This is a beautiful yet very sad memoir about the sudden death of Ann’s five-year-old daughter, Grace, from an aggressive form of strep throat. Told with integrity and honesty, Ann reveals just how tough it was and still is for her, four years later, to cope with her great loss.
Grace was a beautiful, precocious little girl who was in kindergarten and learning, of all things, to speak Chinese!! Her older brother, Sam, just adored her and the two of them got along like two peas in a pod.
Ann and her husband, Lorne, managed to maintain their relationship throughout the grieving process and unlike a lot of couples coping with the death of a child, become closer instead of being wedged apart in their grief.
Gorgeously written with harrowing candor, Comfort is a tribute to Grace and at the same time to this broken-hearted family.
Grace was a beautiful, precocious little girl who was in kindergarten and learning, of all things, to speak Chinese!! Her older brother, Sam, just adored her and the two of them got along like two peas in a pod.
Ann and her husband, Lorne, managed to maintain their relationship throughout the grieving process and unlike a lot of couples coping with the death of a child, become closer instead of being wedged apart in their grief.
Gorgeously written with harrowing candor, Comfort is a tribute to Grace and at the same time to this broken-hearted family.
December 23, 2015
Loved this book SO much. It's short--more like a long essay--but it packs a powerful punch. Hood writes about her grief following the unexpected death of her daughter at age five. Hood writes sparingly and beautifully not only about the irrational nature of grief, but also about the ways in which she and her family cope with their sorrow. My favorite passage is near the end of the book, when Hood is remembering driving her daughter home from kindergarten: "I realize that this is how mothers see their children: through the rearview mirror. We are moving forward, but watching them behind us. Not growing smaller, but smiling, happily, at us." If you know someone whose child (of any age) has died, give them this book. It will help.
December 29, 2012
I chose to read this book because a friend said Hood writes about knitting to alleviate grief, a special interest of mine. At first I was a bit disappointed because that topic was only mentioned in passing. As I got deeper into this brief book (short enough to read in a four hour plane ride), I came to appreciate the honest sharing of a mother's pain in losing a young child. Beautifully written, heartbreaking, and honest...it gave me some insight into the grief of my friends who have lost children.
January 3, 2024
I read this because a friend who recently suffered a similar unimaginable loss said it was the book that is closest to what she’s experienced. In some small way, reading this book helped me see what she’s going through.
December 28, 2020
Wow that was good. It was a quick read. A memoir about the author losing her daughter to illness at 5 years old. So raw and real and true. Highly recommend.
April 8, 2019
I have read most of Ann Hood's books and knew that her young daughter had suddenly died, so I wanted to read this memoir, although I expected it to be painful. It definitely was painful, in its poignancy, simplicity, and honesty, but it helped me to understand her better as a writer and as a person. It also helped as I still grapple with the sudden death of my daughter in law's brother, who was a student of mine and whom I saw the day before he died of an overdose, at 37.
The hard part of death truly seems to be in life's little things, trite as that sounds: the small memories, the meals prepared and shared, the gestures and mannerisms and repeated phrases. In Ann's case, she was in the midst of doing laundry in her home's dingy basement when her daughter's rapid illness, decline, and decline stopped her life in its tracks.
Hood always writes so well of life's small but important details, and she excels at that in this small but stunning and memorable book. Long before the end, her daughter Grace made her way into my heart, and the family decision to move on was moving. Grief and loss come to us all, and this book shows ways to find comfort, including through knitting.
The hard part of death truly seems to be in life's little things, trite as that sounds: the small memories, the meals prepared and shared, the gestures and mannerisms and repeated phrases. In Ann's case, she was in the midst of doing laundry in her home's dingy basement when her daughter's rapid illness, decline, and decline stopped her life in its tracks.
Hood always writes so well of life's small but important details, and she excels at that in this small but stunning and memorable book. Long before the end, her daughter Grace made her way into my heart, and the family decision to move on was moving. Grief and loss come to us all, and this book shows ways to find comfort, including through knitting.
May 28, 2019
A small gem of a book. I very much appreciate her honesty about her pain and how nothing helps, even time, although time did, in its way, help.
February 20, 2019
What I will remember most in this beautifully written book are the author's descriptions of her delighted mothering moments. She celebrates her children and her moments with them even as she writes a clear-eyed description of loss and grief.
June 18, 2009
I didn't feel this book was a real "comfort" for grief, until I realized that it was comforting to the 'author' not necessarily those reading it. She worked her way through her grief by writing her thoughts, some of which were really good, but most were thoughts and memories of her daughter.
Favorite quotes:
"Grief is not linear. People kept telling me that once this happened or that passed, everything would be better. Some people gave me one year to grieve. They saw grief as a straight line, with a beginning, middle, and end. But it is not linear. It is disjointed. One day you are acting almost like a normal person. You maybe even manage to take a shower. Your clothes match. You think the autumn leaves look pretty, or enjoy the sound of snow crunching under your feet. Then a song, a glimpse of something, or maybe even nothing sends you back into the hole of grief. It is not one step forward, two steps back. It is a jumble. It is hours that are all right, and weeks that aren't. Or it is good days and bad days. Or it is the weight of sadness making you look different to others and nothing helps."
"I have read that when someone loses an arm or leg, for months afterward they still feel pain in their missing limb. A phantom limb, it is called, as if the outline or shadow of that limb is still there. That is what my arms became. Phantom limbs, aching for Grace. At night I would wake up in pain, my arms actually hurting with longing for her. It is hard to imagine that emptiness can cause pain, but my empty arms ached."
"Some statistics say that fifty percent of couples who lise a child get divorced. Some statistics are even higher. It is easy to understand why. When your life is ripped apart, all the rules no longer apply. There is no order anymore: in your family, in your life, in the world. ...The life I had struggled so hard to create didn't exist anymore."
"In the gumbo of spirituality, of church and religion and God and beliefs and faith, it is hard to separate one from the other. It has been three years since Grace died. My husband has turned fifty since then. He is a handsome man, but sorrow has taken some of the twinkle from his eyes. He is a man who believes in the power of church and religion. He wants a simple thing: for his wife and his son to stand beside him and lift their voices in a song of gratitude for what we have and for having had Grace at all. I try to give him this. It isn't easy, but I am trying."
"(he) recited the Twenty-third Psalm...The psalm tells us we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Not around it or over it or beside it. Through it.
Time passes and I am still not through it. Grief isn't something you get over. You live with it. You go on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a deadline, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me. Time has passed and I am living a life again, back in the world."
"I have been there. At the brink of losing my mind. Unable to sleep for more than an hour or two. Unable to think of anything except what happened: how it happened, how it could have happened, why it happened. I ask my friends over and over how I could have stopped it, changed it, seen it coming."
"I cannot say how I got from there to here. I cannot even say where 'here' is."
"But do not be fooled. I am not fooled. Even though I am here, I know that the smallest thing---a song, a sound, a smell---can send me back there. I do not live here. I only visit. Even as I stand here, charming, confident, smiling, I glimpse that other place. I stand always perched at the edge. I live in fear fo the times when, without warning, I life one foot, step from here, and go there, again."
Favorite quotes:
"Grief is not linear. People kept telling me that once this happened or that passed, everything would be better. Some people gave me one year to grieve. They saw grief as a straight line, with a beginning, middle, and end. But it is not linear. It is disjointed. One day you are acting almost like a normal person. You maybe even manage to take a shower. Your clothes match. You think the autumn leaves look pretty, or enjoy the sound of snow crunching under your feet. Then a song, a glimpse of something, or maybe even nothing sends you back into the hole of grief. It is not one step forward, two steps back. It is a jumble. It is hours that are all right, and weeks that aren't. Or it is good days and bad days. Or it is the weight of sadness making you look different to others and nothing helps."
"I have read that when someone loses an arm or leg, for months afterward they still feel pain in their missing limb. A phantom limb, it is called, as if the outline or shadow of that limb is still there. That is what my arms became. Phantom limbs, aching for Grace. At night I would wake up in pain, my arms actually hurting with longing for her. It is hard to imagine that emptiness can cause pain, but my empty arms ached."
"Some statistics say that fifty percent of couples who lise a child get divorced. Some statistics are even higher. It is easy to understand why. When your life is ripped apart, all the rules no longer apply. There is no order anymore: in your family, in your life, in the world. ...The life I had struggled so hard to create didn't exist anymore."
"In the gumbo of spirituality, of church and religion and God and beliefs and faith, it is hard to separate one from the other. It has been three years since Grace died. My husband has turned fifty since then. He is a handsome man, but sorrow has taken some of the twinkle from his eyes. He is a man who believes in the power of church and religion. He wants a simple thing: for his wife and his son to stand beside him and lift their voices in a song of gratitude for what we have and for having had Grace at all. I try to give him this. It isn't easy, but I am trying."
"(he) recited the Twenty-third Psalm...The psalm tells us we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Not around it or over it or beside it. Through it.
Time passes and I am still not through it. Grief isn't something you get over. You live with it. You go on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a deadline, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me. Time has passed and I am living a life again, back in the world."
"I have been there. At the brink of losing my mind. Unable to sleep for more than an hour or two. Unable to think of anything except what happened: how it happened, how it could have happened, why it happened. I ask my friends over and over how I could have stopped it, changed it, seen it coming."
"I cannot say how I got from there to here. I cannot even say where 'here' is."
"But do not be fooled. I am not fooled. Even though I am here, I know that the smallest thing---a song, a sound, a smell---can send me back there. I do not live here. I only visit. Even as I stand here, charming, confident, smiling, I glimpse that other place. I stand always perched at the edge. I live in fear fo the times when, without warning, I life one foot, step from here, and go there, again."
September 25, 2023
Vignettes of the process of grief and a confrontation of the common platitudes people offer.
January 24, 2010
I think that I probably read this book too quickly. It only took a few hours to get read, so maybe I did not linger over it for enough time. Still, I have to give Ms. Hood a lot of credit. She is honest with her grief . . . it takes her years to clean out Grace's room, she leaves items of Grace's around the house and still uses them for comfort.
While only individuals who have dealt with the loss of a child can ever really understand what Hood experienced, many of her observations are accurate for people who have dealt with extreme grief. I will admit that I was more fascinated at the beginning of the book than at the end. The beginning was raw and propelled me to the middle of this book, but by the end, when Hood adopts a child from China, she seemed suddenly healed. I know that she was not healed suddenly, but the shortness of the book makes it appear as though she was grieving and then she was not grieving quite as much.
I loved her husband, Lorne, because he seemed more grounded and down to Earth than Hood. Still, she deserves praise for writing down what she felt and publishing it for the world to read. This is a great book for a quick read between bigger tomes.
While only individuals who have dealt with the loss of a child can ever really understand what Hood experienced, many of her observations are accurate for people who have dealt with extreme grief. I will admit that I was more fascinated at the beginning of the book than at the end. The beginning was raw and propelled me to the middle of this book, but by the end, when Hood adopts a child from China, she seemed suddenly healed. I know that she was not healed suddenly, but the shortness of the book makes it appear as though she was grieving and then she was not grieving quite as much.
I loved her husband, Lorne, because he seemed more grounded and down to Earth than Hood. Still, she deserves praise for writing down what she felt and publishing it for the world to read. This is a great book for a quick read between bigger tomes.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 2, 2015
This book was heartwrenching and difficult to read, but a very real and raw plunge into the world of unexpected grief and tragedy. The writing style was very relatable and vivid. Definitely recommend for anyone, but especially folks who have experienced grief and will find companionship in Hood's experience and emotions.
A couple of favorite lines:
"Time passes and I am still not through it. You go on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a dealine, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me. Time has passed and I am living a life again, back in the world."
"I do not live here. I only visit. Even as I stand here, charming, confident, smiling, I glimpse that other place. I stand always perched at the edge. I live in fear of the times when, without warning, I lift one foot, step from here, and go there, again."
A couple of favorite lines:
"Time passes and I am still not through it. You go on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a dealine, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me. Time has passed and I am living a life again, back in the world."
"I do not live here. I only visit. Even as I stand here, charming, confident, smiling, I glimpse that other place. I stand always perched at the edge. I live in fear of the times when, without warning, I lift one foot, step from here, and go there, again."
May 17, 2019
Don't EVER give this book to someone in grief.
I recently lost a loved one and am inconsolable. My friend sent this book to me in a Trojan horse. In other words, she told me she was sending a thoughtful gift for my dog, but she enclosed this monstrosity with it. It is a self-indulgent load of depressing garbage. When my friend saw the review on the back saying, "harrowing," in what possible world did she think it was a wise idea to send me this death bomb as a surprise? I personally grieve by watching comedy, not by reading some narcissistic woman's terrible inner journey. I was so hurt by this that I began crying again - just as I was starting to accept the loss in my family. I took the book to municipal garbage and tore it to pieces in the hope that this horrible self-centered woman will not be inflicted on someone else's grief. Please, readers, let's use taste and tact when dealing with the bereaved, and find out what THEY need, not what this dreadful Ann Hood woman needed when she wrote this book for herself. And believe me, it's only for HERSELF.
I recently lost a loved one and am inconsolable. My friend sent this book to me in a Trojan horse. In other words, she told me she was sending a thoughtful gift for my dog, but she enclosed this monstrosity with it. It is a self-indulgent load of depressing garbage. When my friend saw the review on the back saying, "harrowing," in what possible world did she think it was a wise idea to send me this death bomb as a surprise? I personally grieve by watching comedy, not by reading some narcissistic woman's terrible inner journey. I was so hurt by this that I began crying again - just as I was starting to accept the loss in my family. I took the book to municipal garbage and tore it to pieces in the hope that this horrible self-centered woman will not be inflicted on someone else's grief. Please, readers, let's use taste and tact when dealing with the bereaved, and find out what THEY need, not what this dreadful Ann Hood woman needed when she wrote this book for herself. And believe me, it's only for HERSELF.
May 26, 2008
I just finished. This was the second time I had picked up the book to read and this time, I read until the book was finished. Reading Ann Hood is like hearing her speak into your ear. A gentle but strong voice that is comforting but a little scary, too, because it is such a powerfully quiet voice. I attended a book group at an independent bookshop that sponsored Ann's visit to promote "The Knitting Circle." Ann Hood in person is marvelous, meetable, totally human and very smart. I guess the chapter in the book that Ann describes all the things she is doing and suddenly reminds the reader that inside, this Ann may still be in that grieving time warp where many things have a double meaning, is the part of the book that touched me. Of course, the new life that comes to her family via Annabelle is also lovely and such a testament to the wheel of life. Ann's literary voice is a clear bell, just like Grace's little 'bell'. And I enjoy hearing the clarity.
July 30, 2008
In a way I hated and loved this book. I hated it because I really didn't like the author. I had an easier time sympathizing with her in the beginning when it was just a mother losing a daughter and what a terrible and tradgic loss it was... however as the book progressed and she talked more about herself and her family I got pretty agitated.
I loved that it was something I could talk to Heather about. I didn't realize how strongly I felt about adoption until I had a discussion with her. Adoption is a big topic for me and this book made me realize and actually vocalize ideas I had about it finally.
When I finished this book I threw it, I was so mad. So it's good in that it illicited such strong feelings from me. However, it gets two stars from me because it was bad in actual book sense.
I loved that it was something I could talk to Heather about. I didn't realize how strongly I felt about adoption until I had a discussion with her. Adoption is a big topic for me and this book made me realize and actually vocalize ideas I had about it finally.
When I finished this book I threw it, I was so mad. So it's good in that it illicited such strong feelings from me. However, it gets two stars from me because it was bad in actual book sense.
September 5, 2008
The grief of losing a child is the most unbearable grief in the world yet it happens to so many - some of them my friends. This memoir of the author Ann Hood's journey to that unspeakable place after the sudden death of her five year old daughter is wrenching, lyrical, agonizing and so utterly real in its lack of any answers or even hope that it ever goes away. She says that she lives in two worlds: one that she functions in, laughs in, loves her other children, her husband and job but at any moment a smell, a sound or the sight of a little girl in leopard print rubber boots can throw her back to that other world of rage, grief and tears. According to her you don't get over grief, or work your way through grief, you just live it day to day, in different measure, and always with the possibility of being thrown back to the other world.
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