A Family StoryBook - 2010
Describes how, after their adult daughter's sudden death, the author and his wife moved in with their son-in-law and three grandchildren, quickly becoming reaccustomed to the world of small children and helping the family grieve and get on with life.
“A painfully beautiful memoir….Written with such restraint as to be both heartbreaking and instructive.”
—E. L. Doctorow
A revered, many times honored (George Polk, Peabody, and Emmy Award winner, to name but a few) journalist, novelist, and playwright, Roger Rosenblatt shares the unforgettable story of the tragedy that changed his life and his family. A book that grew out of his popular December 2008 essay in The New Yorker, Making Toast is a moving account of unexpected loss and recovery in the powerful tradition of About Alice and The Year of Magical Thinking. Writer Ann Beattie offers high praise to the acclaimed author of Lapham Rising and Beet for a memoir that is, “written so forthrightly, but so delicately, that you feel you’re a part of this family.”
When his daughter, Amy, collapses and dies from an asymptomatic heart condition, Rosenblatt and his wife leave their home on Long Island to move in with their son-in-law and their three young grandchildren. He peels back the layers on this most personal of losses to create a testament to familial love.
The National Book Critics Circle Award-finalist author of Children of War describes how, after his adult daughter's sudden death, he and his wife moved in with their son-in-law and three grandchildren, quickly becoming reaccustomed to the world of small children and helping the family grieve and get on with life. 50,000 first printing.
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The photos are distributed on the walls, on Ginny’s desk, on the mantelpiece, the bed tables, the dresser. Once in a while, Ginny is brought down by the sight of them, or of any artifact connected to a memory. I am more often felled by mundane problems or momentary concerns, such as choosing a shirt to wear or remembering to take a pill – since nothing will ever be normal again.
On the weekend, we visit the cemetery. Each time, I go with a mixture of need and trepidation, because I know I may break down at the sight of the small rectangle of earth, the boxwood outlining it, the conical brass receptacle for flowers, and the marker, which is so definite.
There is no logic to the relationship of in-laws. The one you love chooses the one he or she loves, and the rest is up to you and that person.
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