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Back Little Universes
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Last Words

1. Say thank you

2. Say I love you

3. Say these words until you die

—HANNAH WINTERS

“Who do we say thank you to?”

“To Mom and Dad,” Nah says. “The universe. Ourselves.”

“I thought you and the universe weren’t on speaking terms.”

Nah smiles. “We had a heart-to-heart when I was in the hospital.”

I look up at the sky, where the moon is already starting to peek through the sunset clouds and the ISS is making its rounds of Earth.

“Thank you,” I whisper. To me. To them. To everything.

I turn to my sister, watch her lips move as she whispers the same words, her eyes on the water.

I lean my head against her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

We stand with our toes curled in the sand, and we don’t leave until the sea has washed Nah’s words away and the sun has fallen out of the sky.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

To say goodbye.

Am I?

“No. But also yes.”

Some problems take a long time to work.

We walk into the water. Hand in hand. Nah’s fingers tighten around mine.

We raise our arms. Throw our roses into the waves.

The sea takes them, like it took our parents, and, for just a second, I think I hear two long sighs deep in the heart of the ocean.

But maybe it’s just us.

We turn our backs on the water and walk toward the lights of Langkawi and the present of our aliveness, which feels like it’s wrapped in shiny paper. The ocean says goodbye, goodbye in its melancholy, lonesome voice, and just when I’m about to cross from sadness to despair, I remember something super cool.

I look at my sister. “You wanna hear something amazing about stars?”

Nah laughs and throws an arm around my shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Okay, so the light that we see beaming from stars is actually thousands of years old, and it’s possible that the light we see has traveled so far and so long that the stars the light comes from are already dead. BUT WE STILL SEE THEIR LIGHT. Isn’t that awesome?”

My sister’s eyes are shining just like Dad’s used to when we talked about stars and planets. And when she smiles, her eyes crinkle up just like Mom’s.

Gone, but we can still see their light.

Mental Health Resources

I wish I could show you

When you are lonely or in darkness

The astonishing light of your own being.

—HAFIZ

National Suicide Prevention Hotline (24/7, free, confidential):
1-800-273-TALK (8255)

SAMHSA’s (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) National Helpline (24/7, free, confidential):
1-800-662-HELP (4357)