I gave it 5 stars. Not because it was so well written nor because it was the best read. But because it was so honest, so personal and so vulnerable. Deraniyagala writes that she isn't a telling person, that she usually avoids talking about what happened. Yet she writes so vividly about her grief in this book. She includes the various nuances and doesn't shy away from the complexity of grief. I didn't get the feel that she fully understood every aspect of the grief while she went through it, and that was somehow refreshing to read about. She didn't try to explain it all the time. She described it as she experienced it. She explored her memories, her feelings and her actions. She was flawed in the way she handled it, and she didn't hide it. 

I didn't cry while reading this book. I expected to, but I didn't. I don't what that entails. Or if it even matters. But I feel it important to mention. I didn't cry. 

I have a hard time trying to conclude this book. I've decided that I'm not going to.