Sgouros debuts with a terse story that packs a wallop—and it ought to, for its subject is grief. A young girl misses her mother, who has entered a hospital: “She used to read to me and play games. She would tell me stories and I would tell her jokes. She’s in the hospital now.” As her mother is uncomfortable much of the time, the girl has made her a special pillow. “When she puts her head on it, she says she thinks of me and smiles.” Suddenly, a mere page later, the child says, “I have the pillow now.” It is a comfort, something to be held close, and even inhaled. Sgouros encapsulates the nettles of worry and the flood of grief, giving them rawness; still, there is no sense of resignation or self-pity. Instead, she addresses the certainty of loss, the easing of sadness, and living with pain. Just as affecting are Ross’s illustrations, expressing all the vulnerability of the young girl’s plight. (Picture book. 5-9)
