"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 never actually met you, as you died a year before I was born. All I know of you is the little my mother has told me; she still tears up when she talks about you. I don’t ask much, as I hate to make her feel bad. Your mother is doing good. She lives with us now, moved in about eight months ago.
Sometimes I wonder about how you were, really. I would like to meet you one day, but that won’t happen. You know, I used to love your picture when I was a baby. Mum says I used to giggle and babble to it like you were really there. She says it’s cos I was with you in heaven before I came down here.
How’s it in heaven? I hope you like it there.
Mum sometimes talks about your devotion to your horses. I admire that devotion. I have never been one to stay devoted for long. I always skip between a few different things.
It seems I’ve run out of things to say, now, so goodbye.