I just finished reading Every Last One by Anna Quindlen. I read it like I read most things these days, in bits and spurts whenever I get a chance to sneak in a few pages or a few paragraphs as the case may be. Back in February I saw Every Last One on the new book table in the library, and having liked some of Quindlen's other novels, I checked it out along with a stack of other things. I renewed it once and was on the verge of bringing it back unread, but I dipped in and got hooked.
This isn't a babyloss book. It is a book about being a parent and about loss and grieving, though I don't think you'd know the latter from the blurb on the cover.
I felt like Quindlen got it right. Got the mundaneness of grief right, because while there are situations that knock us down, moments that take our breath, there is also the everydayness of it, the way loss colors the world we move through even when we aren't staring grief in the face or trying not to burst into tears at an unexpected trigger.
I'm glad I didn't just return it. I've whizzed through lots of books in the last three months, many of them are a blur, but this one is sticking with me. Check it out.