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The Lonely Loon
The Lonely Loon follows a blue-eyed young loon in Maine who gets separated from his family, asks for help, and is rejected by other loons because he looks different. With kindness from a wise heron and courage of his own, he finds his way through fear, a storm, and a painful choice: whether to help the very loons who hurt him. In the end, he returns home steadier in himself, carrying the lesson that belonging doesn’t require sameness.
The writing is tender and direct, in the best picture-book way. The rhymes have a comforting bedtime rhythm, but the story doesn’t shy away from the sting of exclusion. As a parent, I appreciated that the message isn’t just “be nice.” It goes deeper than that. It shows how fear can make others unkind, and how a child can still choose compassion without pretending the hurt didn’t matter.
The artwork has a handmade softness that really suits the story. The art feels misty, quiet, and a little melancholy, especially in the lonely river scenes and storm pages. I liked that the blue-eyed loon is visually different but not exaggerated. He’s still simply a loon, which makes the book’s central idea land gently. The author’s note added real emotional weight for me, too. Knowing the story was inspired by Henry and by the ache of seeing a child misunderstood made the whole book feel more personal and grounded.
I thought The Lonely Loon is a sincere and compassionate picture book with a clear heart and a quietly moving sense of purpose. It’s especially good for young children who are beginning to notice differences, for families talking about inclusion, disability, empathy, or bullying, and for kids who need reassurance that being different doesn’t make them less worthy of love. Its loveliest gift is its reminder that kindness can be brave, and that a child’s truest self is something worth protecting.
Pages: 36 | ASIN : B0GVLVPHD2
Writing The Last Word
In Losing Mom, you reveal the shifting power dynamic between parent and child as you share the incredibly difficult final years of your mother’s life. Why was this an important book for you to write?
As my mom started aging and our roles reversed, more and more of my time and attention was focused on trying to make the end of her life as vibrant and easy as I could. After she died, the void in my own life was quite big, and writing helped me to fill it. Plus, when we were deep in the throes of her decline at hospice, she said something to me about how she hoped that what she was going through might help other people some day. That stuck with me.
I appreciated the candid nature with which you told your story. What was the hardest thing for you to write about?
The hardest part to write about was the last day of her life. It was such a mixture of sadness and relief, finding the right words to describe it took quite a bit of trial and error. The other hard part was writing the last word—it felt as final as if I was losing her all over again.
What is one piece of advice someone gave you that changed your life?
I wish I had the perfect answer to this question and that I actually was given one piece of advice that changed my life! But the only thing that comes to mind (after really giving this some thought!) is my father always telling me to ‘stick to my guns’. I can’t say it was life-changing, but I can often hear his voice in my head when I’m feeling like giving up or giving in.
What do you hope readers are able to take away from your family’s experiences?
My hope is that telling the story of the end of my mom’s life will help make death a little less scary. It’s like the proverbial elephant in the room that we all tiptoe around, and if we could just talk about it more with each other, I feel like we’d all be better off. Also, to hopefully demystify the role hospice and palliative care can play in making someone’s last days the most comfortable that they can be.
Losing Mom
Losing Mom, by Peggy Ottman, is a memoir about a daughter walking with her mother through the last stretch of her life. The story moves through medical crises, small moments of grace, old family rhythms, and the shifting power dynamic between parent and child. It opens with years of near misses, each one convincing Ottman that maybe her mother would never actually die, and then follows the final days with an honesty that feels both intimate and strangely universal. At its heart, it is about love, caretaking, and the long letting go that comes when a parent fades.
The writing is simple, direct, sometimes almost breathless in the way it tumbles forward. That works for this kind of memoir. The scenes of crisis feel sharp because they are told the way we remember trauma, in fragments and quick flashes. I appreciated how she didn’t try to polish herself into some perfect caretaker. She shows the guilt, the second-guessing, the resentment, the deep tenderness. Her relationship with her sisters adds texture, too. They each carry different responsibilities, and you can feel the family history in every conversation.
What struck me most was the author’s honesty about fear. The fear of losing her mom, yes, but also the fear of doing the wrong thing, of missing a sign, of not being strong enough. Those moments felt very emotional. Some scenes hit hard, like when she speaks nonsense during what might be a stroke. Other moments are quiet, almost gentle, like the nurse patiently washing her mother’s hair. The memoir doesn’t try to turn grief into something tidy. It lets it stay messy and human, which makes it more powerful.
By the end, Losing Mom feels like a long exhale. It doesn’t offer big lessons. Instead, it gives you the feeling of having walked alongside someone through something real. I’d recommend Peggy Ottman‘s story to anyone who gravitates toward memoirs that deal with caregiving, aging parents, and the complicated love that sits underneath family stories. Readers who value emotional honesty over dramatic storytelling will appreciate it most. This is a memoir that keeps you thinking, especially if you’ve ever watched someone you love slowly slip away.
Pages: 300
