Losing people I never met

Every time I finish a book, I hear a sigh inside of my head; sometimes the sigh is audible and sometimes it is silent, and I feel my breath slow. I almost race to the end, when I can see it and then when I finally reach it and read the last word, I am reluctant to close the book. Closing the book means that the people I have met inside its cover, the characters whose most secret thoughts have been shared with me, the characters who I now know intimately, will never be a part of my life again. Their stories and engagements and connections belong on a shelf now, where once they belonged to me.

I just finished Ann Packer's second new book Songs Without Words. My mind is filled with the thoughts of Sarabeth, the artsy woman whose mother Lorelei committed suicide when she was young and who went to live with her friend Liz's family. I saw myself in Sarabeth, her philosophical view on life, her role as the observer, watching the families around her, while she herself lived alone. I could related to Sarabeth's failed relationships, her search for truth, for intimacy, for connections.

Liz seemed to be the lucky one with the intact family, who took Sarabeth in when her mother died. Liz appeared to have the perfect family with two kids and a husband. Even though Liz now has a completely opposite life from Sarabeth, her life's misfortunes mirror Sarabeth's in a lot of ways. Her daughter Lauren attempts suicide and she has to face as an adult essentially what Sarabeth faced as a child. With the attempt comes a temporary disconnect between Brody and Liz and a lasting disconnect between Sarabeth and Liz.

Brody copes with Lauren's apparent depression by playing tennis in the middle of the night at the courts at Lauren's school. He works. Sarabeth tries to find something inside of her to cope. She doesn't even find out about Lauren's attempted suicide from Liz; instead, Brody calls Sarabeth from the hospital. This crushes Sarabeth, and she and Liz break their friendship.

What is left to say when tragedy occurs? How do we deal with things so permanent, so lasting, so real? These are the questions that all of the characters must face during the book.

What connects all of the women is their art. Liz finally finishes painting a bench that she has started before Lauren's depression; Sarabeth makes lampshades throughout the book and accepts the bench from Liz by the end. Lauren copes by rediscovering her love of art and drawing.

Nothing is permanently fixed by the end of the book. And like life, we as readers wonder if the ties now rebound will remain tied, or if they will unloop once more. The thing is: it doesn't really matter. We are left watching as readers, as Liz and Sarabeth reminisce about their gymnastics show as kids, while they watch the neighbors across the street. And as they watch and the last page is turned, they fade from our lives. And readers, we have lost another group of friends.