I am a huge fan of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, both as a role model and as a writer, and her daughter Reeve speaks with the same elegant, down-to-earth, masterful voice. This book chronicles the final two years of AML’s life, from Reeve’s point of view, and it is far more a book about life than death: Reeve’s life, too, and that of her family, and all the people that come and go and continue their own fierce living in the face of AML’s long dying. Anne Morrow Lindbergh chronicled her own life in a series of published letters and diaries, most of which I have read, and it feels right to have the life “completed” in my head. I love that Reeve has given us this book, which speaks so eloquently for her mother after Anne’s own voice has been silenced.

It hits home with me on all kinds of fronts. My own grandmother is 93, the same age as AML at the start of this book, but in contrast to the frail heroine my grandmother is active and independent, still driving, living alone in theory but in reality caring for two great-grandchildren aged 10 and 14. My mother-in-law—a contrast again—though ten years younger than my grandmother is suffering a mental decline similar to AML’s (for different reasons). And randomly, how cool is this: AML’s two daughters and I all share the same birthday, a silly little coincidence that always makes me think I must have a special affinity with them. Of course, I and the Lindbergh women are all writers and fliers. The reason I was drawn to AML in the first place was because she was a writer and a pilot, like me married to a considerably better and more experienced pilot. The AML book that first seduced me was not Gift from the Sea but Listen! The Wind, because, unbelievably but unquestionably, it reminded me of my own early flying experiences with my own husband.

So, No More Words is a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. It’s a painful and sometimes hilarious chronicle of the deterioration and death of a loved one. But it’s very life-affirming, and a fitting tribute, and I think Reeve Lindbergh is as gifted a writer as her mother.

Reeve’s own autobiography, Under a Wing, is also worth reading.

Once in a while, if you're lucky, you find a book that fits so perfectly into your life that it seems sent by God. This book is that for me. It's about mothers and daughters, about loss, about words, about family, about the unspeakable. It brought pain, but it also brought comfort. It's a book I wish I had written. It's a book I'd give to every woman who, as an adult, loses her mother. It makes me want to find Reeve Lindbergh and thank her.

Sad and lovely. A daughter's loving observations of her mother's slow death.

I picked up this book after reading the first part of an unfortunate book that was supposed to be based on Anne Morrow Lindbergh's real life. Helpful commenters made me aware that Anne's own journals were published and were a much better read. I checked out this book, unaware that it's the journal of Anne's daughter more or less waiting for her mother to die. So prepare yourself for a bummer, if you're reading this. The writing style wasn't my favorite, and the narrative had unintentional aura of extreme privilege. To have a staff of people who wait on your ailing relative all hours of the day is so much more than most people can afford. I think the vast wealth and multiple houses kept me from being able to really connect to the story. The quest continues for Anne's actual journals.

This was Reeve Lindbergh’s description of how she shared the final months of her famous mother’s life. In her later years, Anne Morrow Lindbergh was stricken with Alzheimer’s and left basically speechless following a series of small strokes. ‘Age and illness have silenced her now, and she lives in silence to such a degree that speech, when it does come, seems unfamiliar to her, her voice hoarse and thick with the difficulty brought on by disuse, a rustiness of pipes and joints too long unlubricated by their once normal flow,’ The family decided that it would be best to move her to Reeve’s farm in Vermont. There, surrounded by caretakers, Anne spent the last part of her life in her own house, a short walk from Reeve’s.

It seems courageous and generous of the author to share such an intimate journey. She confesses her feelings of helplessness, and admits to being unnerved by the quiet from a mother with such a great gift for language. While painful at times, there was humor at the seeming absurdities, and warmth, and above all a deep, abiding love. Mother and daughter had a common bond in their love of nature. The antics of the farm animals are a frequent source of delight for Reeve, and her passion for gardening is clear! ‘I watch for deer at the edges of the fields at dusk, while I’m taking laundry off the clothesline, and when I see them, the sight brings tears to my eyes. I don’t know why. I garden in my perennial beds in the late afternoons with an eagerness that is close to gluttony. Digging and weeding and planting and tending my flowers, all this serves some primitive instinct, so that I feel much more like a pig rooting for truffles than a woman staking her delphiniums, or pulling up witch grass…..’

This was beautifully written. There were flashbacks, and contrasts, while Reeve remembered her mother as she’d once been, and accepted the present. ‘In a situation like mine, there is memory and there is frustration, and there is grief and there is guilt. In fact, there is more guilt than anything else.’ I found a great deal of comfort, as well as wisdom within these pages.

I first read this book as an admirer of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, after I finished her biography, this book would give me the rest of her story. I was either just starting college or maybe volunteer work that would lead me to my eventual career in health care. This time I read this book not only to conclude a biography, but also as someone who has lost her mother and who has had a long career caring for seniors many who are in similar condition to Mrs. Lindbergh. I think because of my life experiences I not only enjoyed this book more, but I found it more readable. It helped me see the residents in my care differently, their family members differently, I saw my own experiences reflected in the pages. I saw myself caring for my grandfather after his stroke, reading him the newspaper while he sat silently in his chair, or wheeling him outside for fresh air. I saw my own family's frustrations and guilt as grandpa lingered on ever so close to the end but not yet ready to cross over. This book made me both happy and sad about my own relationship with my mother. Happy that she never lived long enough to suffer a stroke or dementia or those diseases that steal you away, happy that her death was a quick very peaceful one not dragged out to the point where you can only wonder if we are prolonging suffering. But also sad, sad that she never grew old, remained forever 59, never saw various milestones, new houses, job promotions, new family members. Sad to have lost that special bond only mothers and daughters seem to have, though even in death there is still a bond. The book is told with humour and grace, looks at the absurdities of life, details the guilt Reeve feels for sometimes wondering when her mother will just die already? The pain and resentment of feeling unloved by her often unresponsive mother, all is captured so well in these pages and I would highly recommend to anyone who has lost a parent or is currently struggling with a dying parent, or for those who work in healthcare and have to face the harsh reality of end of life care on a daily basis. This book will offer you hope and assure you that you are not alone in your struggle.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, in her early nineties, moved to her daughter Reeve's farm because a series of small strokes left her unable to completely care for herself. In this book, Reeve gently chronicles her mother's last seventeen months. Anyone who cares for aged parents (or even thinks about that eventuality) will benefit from Reeve's words. I was surprised to read my own feelings articulated in a way I never could have expressed. I found this little book a great comfort.