Making Toast

From Goodreads:

When his daughter, Amy—a gifted doctor, mother, and wife—collapses and dies from an asymptomatic heart condition, Roger Rosenblatt and his wife, Ginny, leave their home on the South Shore of Long Island to move in with their son-in-law, Harris, and their three young grandchildren: six-year-old Jessica, four-year-old Sammy, and one-year-old James, known as Bubbies. Long past the years of diapers, homework, and recitals, Roger and Ginny—Boppo and Mimi to the kids—quickly reaccustom themselves to the world of small children: bedtime stories, talking toys, playdates, nonstop questions, and nonsequential thought. Though reeling from Amy's death they carry on, reconstructing a family, sustaining one another, and guiding three lively, alert, and tender-hearted children through the pains and confusions of grief. As he marvels at the strength of his son-in-law, a surgeon, and the tenacity and skill of his wife, a former kindergarten teacher, Roger attends each day to "the one household duty I have mastered"—preparing the morning toast perfectly to each child's liking.

With the wit, heart, precision, and depth of understanding that has characterized his work, Roger Rosenblatt peels back the layers on this most personal of losses to create both a tribute to his late daughter and a testament to familial love. The day Amy died, Harris told Ginny and Roger, "It's impossible." Roger's story tells how a family makes the possible of the impossible.

From Me:

4 stars.

I am a sucker for memoirs, and this one was beautifully written.

It took me a few hours to read and I had tear filled eyes quite often.

I don't know what compels me to read about  other people's pain...

Why I feel a need to have a view into their emotions and private lives. 

I understand it's therapeutic for them to write about it, but you have to be ready for some people to love your story and the way you told it, and some people?  Not so much.

The reviews I read are mixed, but still, I feel it was a father's/grandfather's tribute to his daughter's family.

There is one little thing that bothers me.

And not just about this book... but...  they are not people of faith.

What bothers me or fills me with wonder, is--- how do they  find comfort?

I'm not saying they have to believe as I do--they can believe however they choose, but what comforts people who have nothing to believe in?

I've just always wondered that.

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The Handyman and I took a road trip to Washington (graduations and great-nieces being born) and I read 2 books on the car trip and listened to a few hours of Misery by Stephen King.

I don't know about you, but I LOVE long car trips!