So I first read this book fifteen years ago, and in coming back to it now, I was so afraid it wasn't going to be as good as I remembered, as moving--but holy hell was I wrong. (At the very least, I was wrong for me--I'm not saying this is the best book in the world per se, but any sense of nostalgia that informs this review has stuck with me, rather than fading away.) Caseley's imagery has stuck with me this entire time, from Uncle Max sticking his cigar behind his ear like a roll of Life Savers to Sierra's father being too tall for the gurney, and revisiting it is like a punch in the gut. This book is an incredible look at grief and grieving, and it was a joy and a pleasure to revisit it again after all these years.