Let me start by saying this book wrecked me—in the best way possible. Marylee MacDonald doesn’t sugarcoat the brutal reality of ALS or the emotional toll it takes on families. As someone who’s watched a loved one battle a degenerative illness, Colleen’s story hit me like a gut punch. The way she balances painting walls, fixing leaky faucets, and spoon-feeding her son-in-law Tony? That’s caregiving in its rawest form—exhausting, messy, and achingly human.

What stunned me most were the tiny, visceral details: the smell of antiseptic clinging to Tony’s hospital bed, the way a simple shower becomes an Olympic event, the silent resentment simmering beneath Sandy’s gratitude. MacDonald captures how illness warps time—meals stretch into hours, days blur into survival mode. I found myself holding my breath during Tony’s choking scenes, my own throat tightening.

This isn’t a feel-good read, but it’s an important one. The characters are flawed—Colleen’s stubborn, Sandy’s emotionally distant, Tony’s downright difficult—but that’s what makes it real. Their love isn’t pretty; it’s paint-stained hands and snapped arguments and middle-of-the-night diaper changes. By the final page, I felt like I’d lived through their crisis with them. Keep tissues handy—and maybe call your mom after reading.