"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I have written so many letters to you in the past couple of years, wheather you recieved them or not, I meant every one of them. It was so strange holding them in my hand, back home after you died, every one with a postage mark and a ripped open seal. I imagined your hands holding them, reading them, reading me. The last time I saw them was at the post box, the beginning of the journey.
I really miss writing to you now. Yes, I still write, loads of them all sealed and stacked under the beautiful wooden box from you loft – but you never get them, and never will.
You were my little sanctury, Granny, my place were I could just be myself. In my letters I could just pour myself out to you without worry of what you thought. You just got me, and I thank you for that.
I miss your phone calls each day, that little bit of strength that you gave me. They were short, most were just even small talk; but it was nice to have someone there for me. The fact that you needed me and daddy to be there just as much too.
There are so many worlds on our earth, each from a slightly different perspective. But you lived in my world, Granny.
Where ever you are, I hope that you are happy.