Some of the greatest novels ever written derive their power from sources of sadness so profound that simply reading the story has an almost traumatizing effect, making the book an extremely memorable part of the reader's life from that point forward. Sad books are, in many cases, the most deeply meaningful literature one will ever read; our minds remember sharp, vivid emotion before anything else, and sadness is easily the most powerful of human feelings. Eternity stretches from the point of loss as unchanged and unbroken as before the death that feels as if it should change the universe. The hands of time take those we call our own before we're ready to relinquish them, often before our expected years together have filled but a fraction of the allotment we were led to believe we had. The mystery of forever proceeds beyond our ability to discern its trajectory, in directions we cannot perceive and according to concepts of truth our minds are unable to fathom. The sudden loss of one held dear to us, dearer than the eloquence of pearly words spoken in memoriam could ever do justice, can send our life tumbling end over end, decorations and vanities crashing into bits and pieces of worthless clutter. It can rend the soul so it is incapable of being stitched back together properly, and with each subsequent re-tear, it becomes easier for the stitches to burst once again. A book like Sort of Forever picks at those stitches, threatening to open old wounds in our heartbroken empathy for what the characters are feeling, but this isn't just reopening old wounds for the sake of feeling some powerful emotion, even if it is haunting sadness. No, Sort of Forever loosens the stitching only where it isn't properly closed, where botched attempts at healing have left our gashes no chance to mend correctly. In undoing these stitches, Sort of Forever promises to teach us how to better close the wounds, to still feel all the pain of bereavement, but without it causing jagged scars that broadcast our past griefs. For there to be full healing, there must first be pain to heal, and Sort of Forever gently allows us access to those feelings of loss once again. They may be every bit as fierce and unrelenting as the last time we felt them, but through the story of Cady and Nana, we see there are better moments ahead even if we can't understand how it's possible. There is always a tomorrow on the other side of darkest night.
"Little things about a friendship change all the time...even when everything's perfectly normal. Nothing ever stays the same."
—Heather, Sort of Forever, P. 88
The cancer isn't too bad at first, as Cady and Nana toast to Nana's twelfth birthday at an outdoors picnic for just the two of them. Nana hardly feels any pain at all from her affected leg; she and Cady can romp around and have fun as if there weren't even a problem, no potentially terminal illness to spoil the party with thoughts of an abbreviated future. Nana is still undergoing radiation treatment for the malignancy, and there will be no reason for tears if that works. Cancer is cured every day, they know, and why shouldn't she be one of the lucky ones? But Nana's medical options dwindle in the following weeks and months, ineffective attempts at a cure falling by the wayside as the disease claims eminence in her weakening body. It isn't clear to us right away, however, that this is the case; there are no signs of panic in Nana, no devastated disbelief from Cady as she watches her best friend begin the first slow circles around the drain. It's easy at first to miss the signs that Nana's diagnosis has shifted, and priorities for her healthcare are different now than at the beginning of the story, but the change becomes clear soon enough. Even with a delayed death sentence now hanging over her head, Nana isn't afraid to talk about the terminal aspect of her cancer; it's others who don't want to listen, even Cady, whom Nana could talk to about anything in the past. If Nana can't be candid about her condition with Cady, then who can she voice her most persistent fears to about the big issues of her future: death, saying goodbye, the idea of forever as it stretches on and on without the ones you love, and no way to communicate with them ever again? Cady has always been Nana's best friend, ready to let Nana look out for her when she needed it, but now Nana needs a lot more help than she ever had to give Cady. Nana needs a friend who will want to spend days and nights with a dying girl in her bedroom, converted into a hospice space, rather than playing and having a good time with able-bodied friends. She needs a friend who will count up the cost of accompanying a terminal cancer patient down the long, excruciating trail to her final resting place and elect to pay that cost without hesitation. Nana needs a friend whose recollection of years of close friendship won't be tarnished, in the end, by the drudgery of a final few months that will be little more than sitting and staring at a surly, depressed Nana, grown thin and ragged like a scarecrow, her once healthy vigor fading as the cancer moves aggressively to bring the struggle to a close. Nana needs a friend more devoted and determined than any twelve-year-old is expected to be, and Cady wants to be that for her. What else can she give Nana now that her entire future is a countdown of mere months?
But Cady can't be the super-friend Nana requires; not all the time, anyway, and not perfectly. She can only be the best she has to give for her best friend, and that's a lot; good enough for Nana to accept and be grateful for it even as she yearns for more. But Cady, too, needs more. Someday soon the girl she formed a connection with down through the years, tied together by ten thousand small moments outsiders could never totally understand, will be gone, and Cady will be alone. The rest of the school has begun to move on from Nana already, the holes she left behind reclosing automatically, but the holes will still be there for Cady after Nana drifts off into her final slumber, and who could ever fill them? Cady spends hours each day shut away with Nana in her bedroom, not having the chance to start friendships with other girls who might be able to help Cady through the hard days after Nana is gone. When Cady does spend one day getting to know a new girl in school, Nana's resentment burns hot for the empty hours she had to pass without Cady to keep her company. Cady is annoyed, but expresses contrition for leaving Nana alone, and continues to trend toward spending less and less time with other friends, and more by the side of Nana's bed. As Nana's condition deteriorates, at first just not being able to travel outside, then unable to walk, then restricted to her bed where an IV hookup provides painkillers to help make her final days peaceful, talking with Nana becomes Cady's whole world. How could a strong, opinionated girl like Nana die and leave her best friend alone? And how will Cady ever deal with the loss when it comes, months of slow mourning brought to a sudden halt with the last rise and fall of Nana's emaciated chest?
Sort of Forever isn't all sadness; in fact, much of it is spent outside Nana's bedroom. Despite the hours Cady racks up at Nana's beck and call, she still has a life apart from Nana, and some of the book's greatest delights are drawn from it. There's Cady's brother, Russell, a red-haired, blue-eyed five-year-old who knows Nana almost as well as Cady does, having been a spectator to their friendship his entire life. Russell is energetic and funny, but insists on a normal life for himself outside of Nana's illness, and he won't take no for an answer when he tries to drag Cady with him back to normality. What matters most to Russell is that Nana's disease is taking up almost all his sister's time, and he wants his piece of the pie, too. Nana has stood up for Russell more than once in the time they've known each other, and he does love her, but he is conflicted about how much time Nana is taking from his family's life. In between serious moments, much of the fun in Sort of Forever comes courtesy of Russell, who can charm the fish out of the ocean when he wants to. He is one of a number of characters in this book you won't forget long after finishing it.
Even when Nana's days of getting around on her own are long over, and there's little chance she will live to explore outside her house ever again, there's still one more adventure ahead for her and Cady, like the ones they used to have before the cancer treatments started to fail. On a night of colorful renaissance, Nana's washed-out eyes sparkling with purpose after projecting nothing but listless disinterest for weeks, Cady and Nana will have one last blast together, a tribute to a friendship that once was much more than an interminable march to the funeral home, a ceremony of mourning started months before the victim's death. Cady and Nana were something special, are something special, and they won't let Nana fade away without celebrating it one last time. Nana's moments of greatest clarity come during this final night of happiness, as she thinks ahead to the fun nights Cady will have in the future without her. "(R)emember me, okay? Whenever you do something that's really, really fun?" Cady answers the only way she knows to in the moment, true to the only way she can possibly feel: "It won't be any fun if you're not there". But Nana knows there are days and dreams still ahead for Cady, even without Nana in her life. "Oh, sure it will," she says. "Someday it will. And you'll have other friends, too, and do you know what? I don't even mind anymore! Just don't forget me, that's all." Thus, a parting night of triumphant togetherness is also platform for some of the most rending emotional dialogue in the story, the moment when it hits us with full force all that these two girls are about to lose, the silences never to be filled, the inside jokes that will never complete the conduit. We begin to feel the depth of the coming loss before it arrives, and there's no doubt the next several pages will be filled with as much emotion as the reader can handle.
"I believe it's a miracle each of us is born in the first place. Beyond that I think we should just be grateful for life itself, for as long as it lasts."
—Cady's mother, Sort of Forever, P. 119
What does forever feel like when we prepare to enter it alone, without the one we always pictured when we thought of forever, the only person we could imagine making it palatable? It's impossible to wrap one's mind around the enormousness of the idea, to reconcile oneself to the truth of never seeing that person again. It's more than anyone should have to face. It's why a story like Sort of Forever overwhelms us so, the thought of a loss that can never be restored, a friendship interrupted for good before it even has the chance to face the trials of adolescence. Forever is so big, it threatens to swallow us up if we think about it too long, but once we've lost someone to forever, it's impossible not to think about it. Yet even as the reader gives in to the free-flowing tears and sobs of grief as Sort of Forever reaches its end, there is more ahead for Cady. Her friendship with Nana may have been severed against the will of either party, but Cady's life has not ended. The future blossoms with opportunities for other friendships, chances to give the time and effort necessary to slowly build a relationship like she had with Nana. Nana may be hiding from Cady for now, but their friendship isn't over; it's just different, a forever connection reinforced by every moment they spent together during their years of best friendship. It all still exists between them, as surely as ever. And that will never change.
I find myself falling well short of the greatness of Sort of Forever in this review. Believe me, I know it. With a book this emotionally profound, a story that blew me away on multiple levels, I don't know if it's possible to express on demand what it means to me, the resounding tones that will linger for the rest of my life as I think back on what I learned from the story of two brave girls facing the monster of death in their own way, refusing to succumb to the dirge of lost hope, knowing always that now matter how it played out, they were going to face it together. Through the streaming tears and deep heartache that will come when reading the final chapters, it isn't hard to see hope for Cady in the weeks, months and years ahead. She won't even have to get through them on her own. She'll know what Nana would say if she were there to give her opinion, and Cady can take her best friend's advice or disregard it, just as she would if Nana were still right there beside her. After all, Nana would never really bail on her, right?
Books the caliber of Sort of Forever come along so rarely, I sometimes go years without finding anything so magnificent. Author Sally Warner is a master of characterization, descriptive phrase, honest, open dialogue and, of course, extraordinarily powerful emotion, which makes its mark all through Sort of Forever. You'd hear no argument from me if this book had been awarded the 1999 John Newbery Medal, even in a year of such classics as Holes by Louis Sachar, A Long Way from Chicago by Richard Peck, The Islander by Cynthia Rylant, If You Come Softly by Jacqueline Woodson, Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key by Jack Gantos and Max the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick. Sort of Forever is one of the greatest books I've ever read, an experience I will keep close always as a reminder of what literature can be at its best. It is, to me, a masterpiece.