Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother's approval, a father's nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.

A book with the genuine power to stir and comfort its readers.

There is a big confusion in this country over what we want verses what we need...you need food. You want a chocolate sundae.

Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away.

The story of my recent life.' I like that phrase. It makes more sense than 'the story of my life', because we get so many lives between birth and death. A life to be a child. A life to come of age. A life to wander, to settle, to fall in love, to parent, to test our promise, to realize our mortality- and in some lucky cases, to do something after that realization.

All who are born are always dying.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all.