A woman's mother sits at the foot of her hospital bed saying the things that she is able to say, closing herself off when the conversation reaches past what she's able to say, and somehow her presence is a comfort, despite all that's come before and all that's left unsaid. 
 Maybe this book arrived at just the right time for me and that's why I relate to both the mothers and the daughters in it. Because although I love the way that it's written---I'm really drawn lately to writing that feels authentic because it touches on difficult memories and then draws back, circling around the way that my mind, at least, circles around difficult memories, a type of writing I associate with women writers and a type of writing I fear I'm too ham-handed to be able to emulate---I'm not sure I would have related to it to such a degree at any other time in my life before now. I think maybe before I felt the drawing away of having older children I might not have comprehended the ambivalence that Lucy feels as her daughters move through adolescence. Maybe before I glimpsed the future of having aging parents I might not have comprehended, either, the ambivalence Lucy feels about this and the possibility that neither she nor her parents will ever understand one another. 
 I won't list the other things that I feel I understand about this story and its characters because I've begun to feel a little more possessive of the things that happen in my life than I once did. Perhaps this is a sign that I should start writing more fiction. Or maybe I just think this because I already feel drawn to writing more fiction and am seeking validation for that inclination. 
 At any rate, I hesitated to pick this novel up, but I'm very glad I looked past my dislike of The Burgess Boys and grabbed this one from the library.