The Heartbreak of Loving A Book

and the most recent book that kept me up until 1 am

“A cone of Superma—I’m sorry, just a sec,” I say to the lady on the other side of the ice cream counter. Loud wails fill the air and I am certain that somehow—despite the fact that he has been standing still at my side—my four-year-old is seriously injured. This is a cry of serious pain; different from the my-brother-just-pulled-my-hair or someone-called-me-a-name cry. 

“What’s the matter, buddy?” I ask, kneeling down to get at his eye level. I grab his hands, looking for smashed fingers, run my eyes over him for any signs of blood. Nothing but a fresh, furious round of sobs. 

I look around at my other two children, seven and nine, hoping they have some idea. “He lost his book,” volunteers one. 

“How?” I ask, looking around the small ice cream shop. He’d had it just moments before, and we hadn’t moved. “Did you lose your book?” I ask, prompting a nod, along with another round of wailing. 

“Where did it go?” I ask.

“Be-be-behind there,” he hiccups, pointing to the counter. I follow his finger, looking down into the abyss between the wooden partition and the ice cream coolers. Sure enough, I can just make out the outline of the paperback he’d picked out at the Little Free Library on the walk to the ice cream shop. 

“Oh, buddy,” I say, certain we’ll never be able to get the book out of the tight space. 

I peer doubtfully into the dark sliver, wondering if there might be a yardstick around that I could use to try and fish out the book. 

“Is he okay?” asks the lady behind the counter, who’s been patiently waiting to scoop our ice cream while a line starts to form behind us. 

“Yes,” I tell her. “He just somehow dropped his book…” I point at the partition, “back there.”

“Oh,” she says, “Well, we can slide these out and see if we can get it.”

It becomes a group effort—she slides the ice cream cooler away from the half-wall, and I stretch my arm as far as I can. The book is just out of my reach, and all three of my boys are tugging at me, trying to get as close as possible to see what’s happening, but no matter how I twist, it remains millimeters away from my grasp. 

The man behind us in line steps up, asks me if I want him to try. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” I say. He reaches and contorts, sweeping his hand down behind the wall while I wipe away the tears still dripping from my child’s eyes. Finally, he stands back up, book in hand.

“Thank you so much,” I gush. “He just got that book and I’m not even sure how it fell back there, but you saved the day.”

Five minutes later, the book sits safely on the table in front of me. I lick my cone of Rocky Road and note the way tears and melted ice cream are mingled on my four-year-old’s face. I reach out and tousle his hair. 

“Losing your book made you feel really sad, huh?” I ask him.

Tears over books are nothing new for me. I don’t remember the first book that made me cry. But I know there have been dozens of them. Characters I’ve fallen in love with that have broken my heart. Words that have allowed me to visit different times and worlds, facing problems outside my own experience. Tears that have quietly leaked out of my eyes and onto the page. Sobs that have wracked my whole body. 

Books I’ve closed and known: I am not the same person I was on page one. 

He nods, a serious expression on his face as he looks over to the book to make sure it’s still there. My curly-haired preschooler with ice cream all over his face can’t read yet. But he already knows the heartbreak of loving a book.

---

The last book that broke my heart:

I stayed up way too late finishing Hello Beautiful last night (or, if we’re being technical about it, this morning—I closed the book at 1:09 am). I loved this family drama focused on four sisters, and sobbed through the last hour or so. There is a Little Women thread that runs through the book, and as Little Women was a childhood favorite (that broke my heart each of the many times I read it), that connection made it extra-special.

I’d love to know:

What’s the last (or first, or most memorable) book that broke your heart? Let me know in the comments!

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