In the eight years since my graphic novel on death published, I’ve learned readers of all ages want to talk about loss and preserve their family’s stories

Becoming an author in my late 50s was unexpected, the result of my daughter Hallie’s own existential anxiety in her early 20s.

Fearing my untimely demise, she begged me to write down advice that would cover all of life’s bases going forward. I agreed, but put the project off for years; it wasn’t until she cornered me with a laptop on vacation that I gave in. She asked countless questions, and I found, to my surprise, that I had plenty to say. Hallie helped shape the manuscript, and then spent a year painting its warmly emotional gouache illustrations.

I lost a parent (or other loved one, including spouse or beloved pet) and your book helped me through.

I gave the book to my kids and wrote my own notes in the margins.

I can’t bear the thought of my mom or dad dying, but they don’t want to talk about it. I’m hoping that sharing the book with them will start some conversations.

The process included a gala featuring medical students doing aerial yoga and singing Taylor Swift to donors’ families. In some ways, it was absolutely perfect

When my mother, Erin O’Connell, was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer in late 2022, one of her first thoughts was: “What will I do if I can’t work?”

At the time, she was 62 years old and working as a physical therapist in Portland, Oregon, where she had recently moved to live closer to me and my family. Reluctantly, she filed for short-term disability from her job and paused her training to become a volunteer search and rescue EMT.