Don’t say I didn’t warn you

I’ve been banned from choosing movies for sometime now. Inevitably the movies I choose feature a sick, dying, or dead child, a sick, dying, or dead mother, or a sick, dying, or dead adulterer. But the pick that sealed the deal was Nobody Knows – a Japanese movie about three kids struggling to survive when their mom abandons them. Needless to say the thrill of spotting a box of Pocky was not enough to overcome the devastating images of the ending.

If I chose my husband’s reading material, I’d be banned from this as well for recommending An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken. Of course I almost didn’t read past page one myself: “A child dies in this book: a baby. A baby is stillborn.”

McCracken’s memoir of grief is understandably bitter. As she recounts the doubts and fears of the pregnancy following the stillbirth, she admits she would rather read Pregnant for the Time Being Monthly in the waiting room. She wishes for a calling card to announce her loss to insensitive strangers even while acknowledging, “How could they know?”

Luckily her friend Lib knows exactly what to say. And it’s her wisdom, tempered with other bittersweet moments, that makes the book bearable. For example, as an American living in France, McCracken relates her uncertainty that the nurse’s offer of a dwarf is a misunderstanding of language or culture.

This book will unabashedly provoke tears. But it will also remind you that sleepless nights are a blessing. And it may leave you downright thankful for the lungs - full of life - producing that demanding cry. Now you know.