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Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Never underestimate the healing power of a mother’s love.”
Even as kids, when Liz was sad, she wasn’t just sad. She was devastated. She always seemed to feel things deeper than the rest of us and then soaked up all the pain around her like a sponge.
That was a problem I had: obsessing over things I loved the most. It wasn’t something I had control over. When I felt things, I felt them with every part of my heart. When I was sad or cross, it was the same. I couldn’t be steady or still in myself. I felt the full wrath of my emotions at any given chance.
For the longest time I had programmed my heart to expect sadness. I put it down to the fact that I had an unsettled mind and had learned from a young age that everything was temporary.
I didn’t want to die anymore.
The priest told my parents that God had taken my sister’s soul to heaven, but he forgot to mention that Caoimhe had taken my soul with her. I knew she had.
The excruciating keening sound that came out of a bereaved mother when her child died was hauntingly distinctive and something I hoped like hell I would never have to endure for a third time.
Most days, I grew more and more depressed at school because my mind was unstimulated, and I needed the stimulation to stay on track. I needed a challenge to distract me from the never-ending storm brewing inside of me.
the letter
the holidays always brought out the worst in my parents. Because it brought out the pain.
“What I feel for you exceeds anything the realm of love could conjure up,”

