Grief Doesn't Have A Plot. It Isn't

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.

Even Now, There Are Still Days So Beautiful, I Almost Believe In God.

When I Was Seven Years Old, I Fell In Love With A Series Published By Bobbs-merrill Called 'the Childhood Of Famous Americans.' In It, Historical Figures Like Clara Barton, Nancy Hanks, Elias Howe, Patrick Henry, And Dozens More Came To Life For Me As Children.

We Were A Family That Made Our Halloween Costumes. Or, More Accurately, My Mother Made Them. She Took No Suggestions Or Advice. Halloween Costumes Were Her Territory. She Was The Brain Behind My Brothers Winning Girl Costume, Stuffing Her Own Bra With Newspapers For Him To Wear Under A Cashmere Sweater And Smearing Red Lipstick On His Lips.

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.