The Sunday Potluck Club by Melissa Storm
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This is an amazing book. I finished it last night but have been unable to move on. I couldn’t begin the review until I thought about so many things that came at me while reading it. I still am not certain what to say. This book has layers.
I knew, after reading the first two pages, it would make me cry. I was ready for that. I got a box of Kleenex ready. I wasn’t ready for the push, pull of the book. The push to read on, wanting to know what was going to happen next, especially with Amy, Trent and Olivia. The pull to stop and absorb; to exam my feelings and connections.
Maybe it is because my mom has Alzheimer’s. Not the same as cancer but equally hurtful and devastating. There is two deaths in Alzheimer’s. Did you know that? The first death comes when your parent no longer knows you and you only get glimpses of who you knew was your mom, or dad. The second, the final one, the I’m still not acquainted with, the one I dread. My mom will be gone with no glimpses a possibility. I thought about how different it is from cancer yet the same. I thought of Amy and how closely I felt to her. How much I felt understood and validated by her internal emotional swings. I stopped quite a bit to examine her..and me. I wasn’t as close with my mom as Amy. My mom hurt me. I’ll never know why now. It’s locked up. I’ll never get the apology either that I wanted. Though, in reality, I wanted it with no real hope of getting it. I forgave because I needed to move on. I needed to cling to the belief that it wasn’t me, that I was so bad I didn’t deserve to be loved. But even so, I wanted to hear it from her. Now, even if she wanted to tell me it wasn’t me, she can’t. It’s never coming so I have to deal with that.
The book is a romance, a testament to friendships and, in an odd way, a coming of age. A different age from the usual teen into adult, but still, a coming of age. Amy, Bridget, Nichole and Hazel are all becoming someone different yet the same. All but one have gone from being a daughter into some new role. The memories are there. The love remains. But the arms are empty, the ears don’t hear and the only time you see them, is when you catch a glimpse in the mirror or, if you have them, in your children. You are still you but you have been changed. Death has left its mark just as walking the rocky road to adulthood does. So yes, a coming of age book.
Now, go, read the book.
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