All the Blues in the Sky

by Renée Watson

ANGEL WAS her name. And everything about her was majestic. Angel was her name. And none of us knew she’d truly become one so soon, too soon. Angel was her name. And one day, when I am flying my plane above the turbulence, flying my plane above the clouds, I will be close enough to Heaven to whisper her name, and she will smile through the sunshine and send a star to hug me. Angel was her name. Angel, which means messenger. Angel, whose life is teaching me. Angel, whose spirit is guiding me. Angel is her name. And everything about her is majestic.

MAYBE PEOPLE are like flowers. No matter how beautiful they are, no matter how much they are loved, they are not here to stay. Maybe the saying seasons come and go is a promise that always more flowers bloom.

WHEN ADULTS tell you that people die, they don’t say how often, don’t tell you that just when you are getting used to one person being gone, another one disappears. They don’t tell you that bad things and sad things and terrible things happen. Sometimes once, sometimes twice, sometimes countless times in a lifetime. If I live long enough to be an adult and if I have children when I am an adult I will tell them as much as I can about all the loss but also all the love and all the crushes and all the bellyaching laughs. And I will tell them that whenever love is involved any loss—big or small, predicted or unexpected— is a great loss. I will tell them to love without regret. I will tell them it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to love. I will tell them it’s okay to feel it all.

I hope this book gives every reader permission to feel real emotions, to admit when life is hard. I hope this book reminds every reader that in the midst of sadness and grief, there can be joy and goodness.