Where Is My Sister? A Gentle Reflection on Sibling Loss

 Few books address a child's experience of death, although some are so well done they merit call backs HERE (elders) , HERE (pets) , and HERE (Siblings).

WHERE IS MY SISTER, written by Shannon Gibney and illustrated by Huy Von Lee,  takes on the least-addressed topic in death, that of a child lost at or before birth. The extreme shift from glowing anticipation to fierce loss is a brave emotional journey to attempt, and these creators achieved something special and noteworthy. 

University of Minnesota press, 2026

In this case, the rarely addressed topic of siblings/children who die at birth is presented with  gentle nuance and deeply resonant validation of the process of grieving such an impossible loss. The cover image and many of the illustrations reveal the tragedy and loss felt throughout the family, with the father and older brother seeking comfort in faith and hope and pursuit of the spirit of the lost Toni, the coming sister whose life was so lovingly anticipated. 

But even-younger Salome struggles with the WHERE of her missing sister, not the why or how such a loss could have happened. This is quest story, Salome's quest is to find and keep her sister close at hand. Longing to believe that Toni might hear a story she reads aloud, that she is part of the family circle-hug, that she surrounds each of them throughout their day is reflected as "somewhat" satisfying when we see the final illustrations in which Salome's expression still holds sadness, but the prospect of better days and acceptance is evident. The strength of family loving resonates throughout the text and images.

I particularly appreciated that each member of the family was allowed a spread or more to suggest their personal journeys through their loss, with Mom clearly struggling the most. As in THE RABBIT LISTENED, among my all-time favorite picture books, Salome senses the value of simply staying near her mother, catching a tear and clinging to the hope that it might hold a bit of her baby sister Toni in its salty essence. 

This is certainly an ideal book for any family dealing with such an indescribable loss. As with so many other powerful books on difficult topics, it is also a superb book to share with everyone, since the experience is both heartbreakingly specific (building empathy) and also metaphorical about any tragic loss after extended anticipation and hope. That comparison is not meant to diminish the immeasurable suffering of families facing the loss of an expected child. It is meant to to suggest that everyone carries loss in different ways, and this book offers a loving portrayal of nonjudgmental and potentially helpful ways to struggle through painful times. 

This is not an upbeat or easy read, but it is one that opens conversations about deep feelings, especially among very young audiences. It does nothing to "fix" anyone else's loss, other than than to suggest that none of us are alone, and seeing the possibility of deep sadness in others can only make us better at being human to, and for, those around us as they experience  their journeys.

OUR LAKE: Tender in Text and Illustration

   

KOKILA PRESS, 2025

 OUR LAKE, written and illustrated by Angie Kang, is an invitation to witness a very special, transformational moment. A relationship and slice of time that transcends the event. Don't miss this seemingly simple experience. Reading the book, diving into its luminous illustrations and subtle text felt personal to me. 

The cover image reveals two boys, lit by a glorious sun and standing at the edge of something high, overlooking a shimmering lake. My anticipatory thought was that this might mirror JABARI JUMPS, the first of several JABARI titles, and my favorite among them. (I reviewed it HERE, and it's a terrific summer title to share with early stage swimmers!) I am among many who, though we love the water, are not exactly confident about diving in from high places. In Jabari's case, his father offers the confidence to launch, and I imagined that might be the case with this seemingly older brother. I was drawn to that relationship, one in which an older sibling is protective and encouraging. I was also drawn to the art, which called to mind another water/confidence picture book, I TALK LIKE A RIVER, reviewed HERE. 

The voice and art of this recent release echoed some favorite qualities from that earlier title. Narrative is direct, personal, minimal, but revealing. Deep emotion is suggested, but only in a gentle and approachable way. The illustrations are soft-edged and glowing, impressionistic and subdued in detail but rich in realism and connection to readers' own experiences. The use of color and light to convey the healing warmth of the sun and the soothing effects of water are nearly magical.

Obviously, all that appealed to me before I even opened the book.

Then I read the story and was convinced that I was reading a future-award-winning treasure. 

On the title page we see the older boy tying the shoes of the younger one. The first spread introduces the heart of this story: 

"Today Brother is taking me up to the lake to swim like Father used to."

The first several spreads swell the pages with mixed emotions of color: Skies and upper backgrounds radiate colorful joy and brilliance, while the foreground and base of the pages absorb that brightness into somber blues and shadows. Multiple spreads throughout the central pages reveal preparing for the lake adventure with rituals of stretching, toeing the edge of the height, and the older boy's plunge into refreshing wasters. The next spreads are similarly simple but heartfelt as the younger boy hesitates, recalls his absent father, makes his decision, and resolves in the sweetest way you can imagine. Actually, it might surprise you, but it will more than satisfy.

Like Jabari Jumps, this is a Father/Son/Confidence story. Like I TALK LIKE A RIVER, this is a story in which the father is not present and yet his presence in the mind and heart of his boy speaks clearly. Beyond these two comparisons, this is a story of loss and resolving loss through the power of shared memories, traditions, and support. In a recent post I reviewed NIGHT WALK, which echoed an experience of finding comfort in loss by sharing memories with others who also loved them. It, too, like these others, relied on direct and subtle text with illustrations that evoke real experiences with a slightly dreamy quality. 

I urge you to read and appreciate this book. It should be one to keep in mind for sharing with anyone (of any age) who loses a parent or parent-figure. Finding strength in relationships that remain will never erase or take the place of the lost loved one. A story like this can offer hope and reassurance that we are not alone, that hope and support are at hand. 

KOKILA PRESS, 2025, OUR LAKE, Interior

NIGHT WALK: A Dream of a Picture Book

CANDLEWICK PRESS, 2024

Unless you are entirely new to the world of picture books, I'd guess that you know of OWL MOON, written by Jane Yolen and illustrated by John Schoennherr (Philomel, 1987). Both author and illustrator represent lifetimes of remarkable successes, and yet their collaboration on OWL MOON feels to me like a capstone accomplishment.

Yolen has published more than four hundred books for children and youth, many award winners among them. Even so, that title conjures instant memories of the utterly realistic yet magical cold weather owl walk of a child and parent. Through a snow-covered woodland, they stroll quietly, gently, seeking a glimpse of a night owl. 

That's a lovely premise, to say the least. The magic comes in the way a seemingly simple, concrete story transcends the intended goal to depict a timeless yet precious moment between the human pair, christened by the eventual presence of the owl in the title. The illustrations captured and expanded the frozen, heartwarming, minimalist story with Caldecott Award-winning images that engage all of our senses. 

That book is touchstone in storytelling, poetry, voice, mood, and figurative language.

I begin with that homage because I rarely compare other books to OWL MOON, and definitely don't rank other work  alongside that original. This  picture book is an exception to my unwritten rule. NIGHT WALK is written and illustrated by Jason Cockcroft. This is not "another Owl Moon", rather it calls that icon to mind in content and quality. In this case, it's Grandpa waking up Sleepyhead to take a night walk in search of Grandma's favorite place. The text is an extended dialogue between Grandpa and child, reading like direct open verse in exchanges alternating plain font and italic. The child has never taken a night walk, has never imagined how such familiar wild territory could look so different in moonlight.

Together they are on a trek to Grandma's favorite place, with the child noticing countless things they knew were beloved by Grandma. Sometimes the child points them out, other times Grandpa does. Each discovery is viewed as a potential "Grandma's favorite place". Their hike involves fox and owl, fish and hedgehog, The illustrations are richly evocative, with shades and depths of blue, always frosted by moonglow. 

Under the stars, too many to count, watching passing whales, both rest on a hillside and whisper that they miss Grandma. In the fading night, Grandpa finally confirms that THIS is Grandma's favorite place-- as a page turn reveals a spectacular morning sunrise reflected in dawn waters. That, my friends, is a spoiler, but one that I won't apologize for revealing. The progression of story allows that penultimate scene to take your breath away, whether you know it is coming or not. I won't reveal the closing text on the final page turn, but you might anticipate it. 

This quietly elegant and yet simply rustic tale is not one that surprises. In fact it will resonate in each reader with your own special memories, personal losses, hallowed spaces. And with the remaining relationships with those who shared memories and love. I hope you'll take time not only to read NIGHT WALK, but to savor its grace and embrace your own memories and emotional treasures. Within the publishing world it is often repeated that "quiet books" are a hard sell. With this as an example, I doubt that.

Speaking of Home: ANYTHING Deserves Celebration

 The prior post shared a picture book in which HOME travels with the family, in much the way a turtle carries its home on its back. If you missed it, I hope you will take a look, HERE. The bottom line in that heartfelt story is that HOME is where LOVE is. 

CHRONICLE BOOKS, 2025

ANYTHING is a story by Rebecca Stead (multiple award-winning author who captures the emotional landscape of children of many ages) and illustrated by Gracey Zhang, (also a multi-award-winning illustrator). It, too, explores what and where HOME is, and how to find it.

Change is never easy, and this is a story of change and longing. A family must move, but their beloved home does not come with them. Not even the blue footed-bathtub for Thursday night baths. What, then, will make this new place HOME?

Those who write picture book manuscripts and seek feedback from other writers and editors are sometimes (often) told that their story really begins several pages into the text. What that means is that the first lines and pages are backstory, setting the stage, but not revealing anything important about the problem or characters. Backstory matters, but if a story is well-told, the talents of storyteller and illustrator will combine to reveal this without having to state it in advance. 

This is Stead's first picture book, and I hope it will not be her last. A writer of longer text (novels for middle grades or teens or adults) must come to picture book writing as if to poetry. What is required is trust in the reader to fill in from images and experiences what is not delivered in words. Condensing the luxury of 40,000 words to under 400 words for the entire book is  daunting, to say the least. In this case, though, Stead demonstrates expertise and appreciation for the elegance and absence of words in the best of picture books. 

In brief, a young girl and her dad are in day one of a move to a new apartment. Dad is deeply aware of the stress of moving and of his child's struggle with change. The first line is:

"The cake was chocolate."

Yep. That's it.

But just look at what that does to the opening.

Interior opening spread: ANYTHING, Chronicle Books

The illustrations are mostly backline drawings, some sketchy and some darkened and overlaid to focus attention and give weight to the scene element or characters. Isolated items carry attention through color (cake, rainbow, imagined wishes). The ANYTHING of the title refers to Dad's effort to make a hard transition more welcoming. Blowing out the candle on the cake allows for wishes for ANYTHING. (Even three wishes for ANYTHING, no matter how hard those wishes might be!)

The ensuing pages reveal a child with an aching heart who keeps some wishes to herself, a dad who knows his child well and provides safe spaces to share the wishes and help build a new home together. This is a full-sized book with loads of white space and minimal art and text. All the better to focus readers on that art and those well-chosen words. 

I won't spoil the deeply loving relationship, challenges, and resolve of this new release, because words I'd use would never do justice to the minimalist-richness of a book that is bound to be in the running for awards and praise in this calendar year. Beyond that I see this as a classic for years to come, ideal for Father's Day, for moving day, for change and loss, for discussions of HOME and what matters most, and as mentor text for writers and illustrators everywhere. 

A delightful note is that the first person narrator is sketched at such an age and with medium length hair and generic clothing so that they could visually read as a boy or girl. The lack of color and detail in character images means that readers can assign their own skin tones and identifiers to the characters if they wish, although they tend toward Caucasian. 

May I challenge you to get this book and consider carefully what it means to write what matters, but ONLY what matters, and to draw WHAT MATTERS. Like poetry, picture books like this make it clear that words without pictures fail, pictures without words often fail (though there are certainly some unforgettably fabulous wordless picture books), and both require an attentive, invested reader. That human element, with the right words and the right images, simply SOARS!

Fact-inspired Fiction Reveals Human Truths: THE PHONE BOOTH IN MR. HIROTA'S GARDEN

 

ORCA  BOOK PUBLISHING, 2019

This picture book has been around for several years, yet it crossed my path again recently. It certainly should stay in circulation and I hope this review and recommendation will support that possibility. THE PHONE BOOTH IN MR. HIROTA'S GARDEN is written by Heather Smith and illustrated by Rachel Wada. This fictionalized story mirrors many aspects of the true story that inspired it, an actual gentleman who built a non-working phone booth in his garden to facilitate his private expressions of grief and connection directly to his deceased brother.

The author note indicates the power of hope and resilience revealed by providing a simple space of connection. It is  based on the belief of many that some form of our life-force continues even after physical death. 

The premise in this fictional story combines the loving connections between trusted village neighbors with the historic tsunami disaster that affected millions in Japan. Mr. Hirota's young neighbor visits daily at the edge of a garden overlooking the ocean coast. Together, they watch for Makio's dad and Mr. Hirota's daughter, noting their return ftom fishing to sort, clean, and prepare the catch for sale. This daily spotting practice, or "game", provides a rhythm to their lives that echoes the oceans daily greeting (O-HI-O, the phonetic pronunciation of HELLO in Japanese). The blank, off-white end pages provide no clue of what's to come, and yet their washed-away nothingness does indeed speak volumes. 

On a typical idyllic morning, the final line of the first page bodes disaster: 

"They were playing when the shaking started and the big wave came."

The writing and pacing are impressive in scene-setting, establishing stakes, and investing each character with empathetic value. Then a gigantic-hand-of-a-wave snatched away people as well as Mario's voice. The next several spreads have minimal text, while the soothing limited-color illustrations from early spreads shift to darker shading and tones to reveal intense loss and suggest details of destruction. As Makio and Mr. Hirota, survivors, survey the remaining fragments of life, the residue left behind by the tsunami's destruction, silence replaces their daily chatter and word play. 

Then Makio hears sounds of building, he notices a glass-windowed booth constructed at the edge   of the garden. Then he hears Mr. Hirota's voice, speaking to his missing daughter, Famika. The message was simple:  I miss you.

Makio investigates and finds the booth empty except for its view of the ocean and an old, disconnected phone. But Makio remained silent, except for screaming at the sea to bring the beloved people back. The reply, of course, was only Ocean's relentless greeting- O-HI-O, deepening his sadness. His exhaustion and defeat were so great that he finally summoned his voice to use the lonely phone booth. I miss you, Dad.

Other villagers visit the booth to speak to missing family and friends, too, reporting their daily doings and whispering their deepest feelings. The text remains minimal. No simple resolves are revealed, but each line packs a poetic punch and offers layers in threads of a future we begin to recognize as they weave together in the final pages. No simple (or sappy) resolution is offered, but indicators of healing, rebuilding, and mutual support reassure and ease the tension and ache of immeasurable loss. 

Art choices and superb execution meet the high bar of this magnificent story, elevating emotions while scaffolding the intensity of feelings with sprawling views, personal/positional connections, and intentional color shifts to lead readers through this journey of grief and recovery. Just as a seemingly simple device (a wood and glass box with an unconnected phone) becomes a conduit to inner peace, this direct narrative and limited-palette illustration are effective because of the deep emotional connections that make them resonate with reality: traditional Japanese symbols, techniques, and tools used to capture the spirit and heart of this time, place, and problem. 

Books of grief and loss can be challenging, even avoided. This, though, should be shared widely. It reminds us that strength is found in community, that recovery takes time, that speaking aloud our feelings can be healing. And so much more. Please consider tracking this down, reading it, and sharing it.

Grief and Loss: Nobody Does it Better than PICTURE BOOKS

 

TUNDRA BOOKS, 2022

Grief may not be continuous but is ubiquitous, a universal human experience at any age. Here's a story that takes every reader into the heart of loss and offers both empathy and a hopeful hand of comfort. RODNEY WAS A TORTOISE is written by Nan Forler and illustrated by Yong Ling Kang.

This particular story of the death of a nonhuman friend uses possibly the least likely critter as the pet who passes. Rodney a tortoise has outlived generations of Bernadette's family, is a constant companion whose ways are seen as fully compatible with friendship, and reveals his personality and affection in the most subtle of ways. Ways, though, that young Bernadette recognizes, appreciates, and embraces in her daily life and within her circle of family and friends.

The first pages of the story reveal all of the above and also allows the reader to develop a sense of connection, even affection, for Bernadette's "old pal" Rodney. When Rodney's slow style becomes evidently NO movement at all, Bernadette hopes that Rodney's "joker" style might mean he was simply holding his breath. She and her family come to terms with his passing with a family burial ceremony, near the lettuce patch, and by remembering the things Rodney had taught them:

"Be a pal. Slow down. Chew your food. Enjoy each piece of lettuce." 

Bernadette sings a goodbye song.

Some picture books about grief end there, providing a useful model for those heartbreaking goodbyes and inevitable losses.

But not this book. Things get quite a bit worse before they get better (hang in, please). Bernadette finds that her friends at school have nothing whatsoever to say about her loss. Despite having met Rodney at bring-a-pet-to-school day, they are quickly preoccupied with their own news and issues. Within their silence and busy-ness, Bernadette slips deeper and deeper into her own turtleneck and hoodie, isolating herself at recess time in a shell of sorrow. Eventually a classmate, Amar, climbs into her cloud of grief and asks about her sadness, sharing a single line about his own lost pet, then allowing time and space to just be there. 

This last stage of the process of gradual recovery and restoration of small joys in life is far less frequently explored in books dealing with grief. This offers so much realistic, eventual hope and resolution that it's a must-have title for those providing suggested "grief" picture books.

Another title that remains among my most often recommended was reviewed HERE, THE RABBIT LISTENED. Other titles addressing this topic are featured HERE, and HERE, and HERE. There are many other picture books that explore this fraught aspect of life, especially for young people. I suggest making a list and taking a look now, before life deals someone you love an experience for which there are so few answers or comports, other than time. There's no reason to imagine that a picture book will "fix" anything in such times of struggle, but they can, in fact, reflect and reassure, engage and even entertain. 

Two Irresistible Cybils Fiction Picture Book Nominees: Stories of Separation

Image alert:  My cover images are not uploading as of publication for the post, but I'll continue t work at adding them back in when the glitch is resolved. Meanwhile, click on each of the titles  in the text to view them at the Indiebound.org web page. 

Covid 19 note: 

Regardless of where in the world we find ourselves, the coming months will encompass many holidays. "Where in the world" may mean physically (in the USA or elsewhere), culturally (by ethnicity or religious identities), or simply finding ourselves connected to multi-generational traditions. One thing that will be true across these identities (and far beyond) is that 2020 holidays will NOT repeat all traditional celebrations and past practices. Finding ways to preserve the spirit and joy despite separations and limitations could be challenging, but IS possible, and merits our attention and effort. 

So, yet again, I'll  risk sounding like a broken record. I wonder how many readers know that phrase or recognize the reference to a "record" skipping, repeatedly producing the same phrase? At any rate, my repetitive claim, the one that launched this blog, is: 

"Picture books are for every age!"

Two titles among the many outstanding picture books I've been reading as a Cybils panelist for fiction picture books are ideal examples of this thesis. Both have much to offer in the way of wisdom and comfort during times of separation and change, especially when longing could overwhelm us. 

 EVELYN DEL REY IS MOVING AWAY is written by Newbery Award-winning  Meg Medina and illustrated by Sonia Sanchez. It's no surprise when Meg Medina's books channel the truths and hearts of young characters. In this case, her format is an expansive and vibrantly colored picture book about the parting of numero uno best friends, the narrator Daniela and her moving-away mejor amiga, Evelyn Del Rey. 

Readers quickly absorb the unlimited connection and affection of these friends who are "almost twins", revealed during the final hours while they are still neighbors. Their 'almost twin" bedrooms are connected by a rigged clothesline pulley between their windows). In those limited hours while the moving truck "gobbles up" Evelyn's family's boxes and furniture, they share lovely and lively experiences. Snippets of interactions include multi-cultural neighbors, understanding parents, and the deeply felt sadness despite understanding.

This story, these characters, and the powerful illustrations merit many re-readings. 
The dedication and the final spread underscore the reality that friendships span distance AND time, whether that means moving away or adjusting to new ways to celebrate a holiday. 

 

TWO BICYCLES IN BEIJING is witten by Teresa Robeson and is illustrated by Junyi Wu. Two brightly-colored bikes are the central characters in this charming tale set in Beijing, China. The sunny yellow bone and the robust red one leave the factory together, lean together in a shop window, and feel deeply connected. Third person narration is interrupted by the thoughts of the red bike, Lunzi, during alert travels as transportation of the buyer, a delivery boy. That launches the Lunzi's watchful attention in busy Beijing streets, alleys, and pathways, ever alert for a flash of yellow, the other bike, Huangche. In the course of a day, those flashes of yellow introduce readers to iconic locations and activities from the city, interspersed with a few Mandarin Chinese words and named landmarks. 
It is not easy to embue a couple of bicycles with personalities and emotions. That is especially so when it's achieved almost entirely with voice and subtle hints in the illustrations, not obvious facial features or other anthropomorphic details. The resolution arrives naturally, with an added sense of joyful discovery. It is an enormous challenge to create a picture book with kid-appeal featuring adult (or near adult) characters.Centering the focus on the bikes and their emotional motivations will hold natural appeal for little readers, inviting attention and curiosity about the visual and cultural hallmarks of Beijing. 

In both cases, these recent picture books are lovely stories featuring diverse populations (in both settings) and the centered characters are in densely populated communities. In both, the feeling that only one particular person (or bike) truly matters resonates from the ages and touch readers' hearts. 

In each case these characters are spending time out and about, in the "real world". Let this be a a reminder that Covid-induced isolation will eventually pass. Even then, we will regularly confront emotional losses. Separations and missing loved ones will continue to cause sadness and worry. 

Let's make sure we all get there, safely and well. It's worth the current sense of loss in missing traditional gatherings and travel to reduce the impact of this pandemic and preserve the health of those we love and care about so deeply. 

Suddenly- Grief and Loss

On past Memorial Day weekends I've shared thoughts on that subject and recommended various titles in previous posts, here, here, and here (and more). I linked those to reassure myself that I'm not neglecting the important topic of veterans lost to us in service by veering to a more general theme in this post. 
It's not as if I haven't written about death and loss and picture books in the past. Just enter  death or grief in the search box on the right and you'll find some of the many books I've recommended on this topic. In each case, though, I've found the books first and shared my reactions and recommendations for various uses.

This post, however, is a response to a specific situation, a heartbreaking loss that left me, and I suspect everyone else involved, feeling helpless. I often have to bite my tongue when faced with loss or tragedy, desperately grasping for something, anything, to offer those suffering some tangible relief beyond my sympathy. This is exponentially more true when the grief involves children. The older I get the more aware I am of how grossly inadequate and even inappropriate that impulse is. 

Dial Books for Young Readers, 2019

A recently released picture book makes this point more brilliantly and beautifully than I can. THE RABBIT LISTENED is written and illustrated by Cori Doeerrfeld. 
This little book offers a universe of wisdom. It opens with utterly appealing scenes, introducing a character, Taylor, about whom we instantly care. 
Then trouble swoops in: sudden,  shocking, irrational. Taylor is rightly dismayed. 
The author/illustrator's use of caring, well-meaning, and slightly absurd animal interveners highlights the fact that each portrays a "fixer" approach- giving advice that wasn't sought. Even though the effort is sincere and the suggestions are generally textbook-smart, there is little or no effort to "read" the child and realize that time and circumstances make their well-meaning offers, well, meaningless.
Then Rabbit arrives. As the title says, Rabbit Listened, recognizing and absorbing Taylor's raw emotions. Rabbit's only role is to be present. To offer comfort without expectation or exit. Only then can Taylor (who could be a boy or a girl) try out various reactions, move through stages of grief, and work through the pain of loss until it is resolved. As comforting as this book may prove to be for young audiences, it should be considered an advanced course in human outreach for those of us with the "fixer" impulse.

While respecting the privacy of the family involved, I'll share the circumstances that prompted this post. It involved the recent sudden death of a bright and kind young man. He was the husband of a woman I've known since she and her sister were in elementary school, girls who had cookies and cocoa at my table and helped me open up my classrooms in each fall. Now that little girl I knew has grown to be this young woman. She and her husband are both young professionals, parents of an incredibly bright and sweet five-year-old girl. That former little girl and her own daughter now face the daily reality of drastically altered lives, shifting dreams, and an achingly deep absence in their futures. 
My fixer impulse surfaced in full force, but with an absolute awareness that nothing "fixes" this situation. Nothing can, nothing will. 
That's when I remembered this picture book. I also checked for other titles at CHILDREN'S BOOKS HEAL, a blog by Patricia Tilton and  BOOKS THAT HEAL KIDS,  a blog by Roxanne. I turned to the power of picture books based on the way they can act as the rabbit: to be there, to be present and available, waiting to listen and share the child's grief  whenever and however they are able to express it. 

Star Bright Books, 2013

Those and other searches led to two more very specific titles. These may help now or wait in the wings for several months, or more. The first is ALWAYS BY MY SIDE, written by Susan Kerner and illustrated by Ian P. Benfold Haywood. The simple but lyrical text inspires lovely examples of the ways in which young children can turn to happy memories and moments of comfort to feel the presence of a daddy who has died. The story was inspired by the author's own experience in being the widowed mother of a young child while pregnant with another. This is the book she hoped to find. GEEKDAD blog presents an interview with the author. An added benefit of this book is the diversity of the characters, settings, and supporting cast which emphasizes the universality of the situation and the human responses. 

Magination Press 2007

Another book that could be useful as the months pass is SAMANTHA JANE'S MISSING SMILE: A Story About Coping with the Loss of a Parent, written by Julie Kaplow and Donna Pincus, illustrated by Beth Spiegel. This story, written by two professionals in the field of grief and anxiety in youth, tenderly explores and supports young Sarah Jane as she resumes her "new normal" life after the death of a parent, in particular helping her to accept moments of happiness, even laughter. The story reminds Sarah Jane that, as she recovers a full range of emotions, she can experience happiness without feeling guilty or worrying that it means she is forgetting her parent. 
The story directly addresses these questions but is kid-friendly. Back pages provide additional professional advice to surviving parents supporting a child through such a loss. Magination Press is a publisher curated by the American Psychological Association with a long track record for topic-specific titles that have helped countless children and families. 

Now, back to the Memorial Day question. I grew up at a time when veterans were lost to war,  but those were wars that lasted five to seven years. Even so, they produced a nightmare of losses and family grief. Our current war(s) has extended nearly two decades. For many of the white crosses and  fluttering flags there are young children feeling that loss, whether raw and new or achingly present after many years. Whatever the reason that young people are left dealing with the death of a parent, there are ways to support the grieving and dealing process. Books can help.
But, above all, remember the rabbit:  Be present. Listen.