Well that was... odd!
A writer-mother has conversations with her teenaged son, who has committed suicide: sounds pretty devastating, right?
But they mostly quibble over semantics. ? I wasn't up for being swept away by floods of tears but I was expecting to feel *something*. It's desolate enough, in it's own way, and has left me with a "what was the point of it all?" kind of emptiness. Maybe that was the point?