THE TREE YOU COME HOME TO

A writer reflects on the violent death of her son.

Each of Olmsted’s three sons had their problems. The worst came from their youngest, Casey, who was in crisis from the age of 11 until his tragic murder at 20. “Casey’s is a story of anguish and struggle for love and self-worth,” Olmsted writes, “but it is also one of great personal courage and determination.” Working from primary sources, like notes about Casey’s institutionalizations, Casey’s writings, court statements, and recollections from family and friends, Olmsted reconstructs her son’s short, turbulent life—his violent outbursts, struggles with drug addiction, and the birth of his daughter, which marked the beginning of a slow, more hopeful turn toward responsibility and spiritual healing. At the same time, Olmsted narrates the immense grief she, her husband, and her other sons felt after Casey’s death, especially as the murder trial looms. A university English professor and poet, Olmsted outlines the various efforts made by her, doctors, therapists, and teachers to intervene in her troubled children’s lives, providing meticulous analysis of how to keep moving forward in the face of the seemingly insurmountable. At the same time, she invites readers into her darkest stray thoughts while maintaining a distinct, sharp voice. (She interrupts herself at one point: “Irrational fears: Everyone I love will die. Go away, bad thought.”) Most notable, however, is her conclusion, which reflects on the need for an apology from her son’s murderer. It’s a standout chapter—a stunning and emotional investigation of parenting, grief, and language.

An affecting examination of loss and helplessness and how they intersect.