By Francis Chalifour
Nominated for the Governor General's Literary Awards 2005, (Children's Literature, Text)
Fifteen-year-old Francis's father has dedicated suicide and not anything often is the comparable back. Suicide is grotesque, unglamorous, and it's by no means an answer. Its aftermath is dreadful.
At first, Francis feels a bad guilt. may he were a greater son? What if he hadn't left his domestic in Montreal to move on a quick vacation in big apple the weekend it occurred? quickly the guilt turns to anger after which to a disappointment so profound that he thinks he can't endure it.
After is the map of a 12 months following the suicide of a friend. during months, with the affection of his mom, with counseling, and with the balm of time, Francis takes his first steps towards coming to phrases together with his father's -- and his family's -- tragedy. After is extremely own, however it will resonate with a person who has confronted the lack of a enjoyed one.
This incredible autobiographical first novel is an acute research of the grieving procedure. even though it is steeped in Francis's unhappiness, it truly is eventually a narrative of desire.
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Additional info for After
Four and a half years of paralysis had turned my father’s powerful, muscular arms to jelly. His face looked fat and his stomach was distended like that of a starving African child in a UNICEF ad. I closed my eyes and started to cry as hard as I ever have. It wasn’t just the shock of the loss, it was the way that he’d gone— much too soon and so unlike the way he’d lived. I wasn’t going to accept that. I wasn’t going to let that become my father in my mind. I wasn’t going to open my eyes until I remembered him the way he was when I ﬁrst got to know him.
We’d just had Paul Anka on, who had delivered in such an amazing way—he really was one of the best guests we’d ever had. Howard did one of his classic, brilliant interviews, and Anka told great stories about Sinatra and the old days. People at the show had been on the fence about having him, but Anka blew other guests away. So when Frankie Valli came up, I stepped in. “Oh man, that’d be great,” I said. “Look, you know, I got this great story about meeting him as a baby, and I could bring in the picture of me and him and see if it jars anything in his memory at all when we do the interview.
My father had bought a camera for my mom in the motel lobby, and she took a bunch of pictures. She got me, my father, and Frankie Valli, as well as a few of me alone with Frankie, and then my dad took a few of my mom and Frankie. Actually, my parents took pictures in every conceivable configuration of themselves, me, and Frankie Valli. Most of them were lost in the shuffle over the years, but for most of my childhood the best ones were proudly displayed in our house in Union in one of those square plastic picture cubes.