The Alphabet ends with Y

I fell in love with mystery novels when I was six years old and read through my first Bobbsey Twins book all by myself. I loved the dependable characters, the rise and fall of the plot and that the truth always prevailed in the end. Even though I did read a spattering of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, my next love of mysteries came with Trixie Belden. I loved the scrapes she got herself into and the dialogue was funny and smart. As I grew up, I left behind mysteries as “childish” and read myself through “serious” literature in pursuit of an academic degree. While there were some authors through my studies that grabbed me—Mark Twain, Harper Lee, Joyce Carol Oates, lots of times I had to pry my eyelids open with miniscule toothpicks and muscle my way through boring, boring descriptions and pages of musings that I really didn’t care about. I got my English degree, but almost lost my love of reading in the process.

Ironically, it was teaching literature that reminded me of how much I used to love mysteries. One of my students gave me a Christopher Pike novel for Christmas. And even though it was formulaic and predictable, I read it with zeal. I went to my local independent bookstore—back when that was still a thing—and said to the owner—“I want a grown up mystery. What is good?” She marched me right over to the Grafton books. A is for Alibi wasn’t on the shelf, but B is for Burglar was. I took it home and immediately formed a kinship with private investigator, Kinsey Milhone. We are both sarcastic. We have entire wardrobe changes in our cars. We both have had our share of horrible luck with men, mostly because neither one of us truly wants to give up the freedom of independence. The list goes on. I read myself throughr K is for Killer in a matter of days, then after that I looked forward to each installment like some people look forward to Christmas or a beach vacation. In between times, I dabbled with other crime novels, other PI stories, but no one could come close to Grafton. She had my loyalty completely.

As the years have gone on, I have enjoyed experiencing the growth Grafton has had as a writer. The novels turned from formulaic to new, inventive ways of unrevealing a story. The character of Kinsey became more complex and deeper and matured as Grafton’s writing matured. Many times in my life, I have picked up a book, or reread the whole series, because they are always fun and thrilling and like being with old friends. I never cease to become totally engrossed.

In 2015, when X came out, I was probably at one of the most difficult crossroads of my life.  My parents had just died and my son was suffering from his first psychotic break.  He didn’t have a diagnosis at that point and I was reeling in uncertainty as he accused me of mind reading powers and carried on dialogues with people no one else could see.  He was mostly living on the streets afraid that his soul was being stolen or his thoughts were going to be highjacked.  I spent my days dealing with funeral arrangements, insurance issues, lawyers, doctor bills, condolences, plus traveling to nearby cities to look for my son as he hid in sheds and slept in motel stairwells, talking to himself and slowly starving.  In the midst of all that, I managed to get myself to the supermarket and pick up X—a little bit of light to hold on to.

The first thing that struck me?  Kinsey’s parents had been killed in a car crash driving on a mountain road.  They’d been struck by a falling boulder, whereas mine were killed by a silly girl racing to recover a forgotten cell phone.  We were both robbed of our parents in these senseless accidents.  Both orphans.  Another thing we had in common.  Although, I have never been much of a fan follower, I sent Grafton a message on Facebook, after I’d read X.  I told her about how I’d followed Kinsey for all those years, and about losing mom and dad and my son in a matter of weeks and I thanked her for writing and bringing me joy, especially at a time, I needed it the most.

She wrote back to me.  Her words were just like her novels—full of truth and a little bit of hope that tomorrow will be better.  I will always keep her note.

Sue Grafton’s death has made me feel the horrific loss of my parents again.  Something unexpected and hard and unbelievable.  I can’t say how many times I have picked up the phone to call mom, or started driving to their house to have breakfast with my dad, or thought, “I can’t wait to show Mom and Dad.”  Sometimes I think of them and the pain and sadness is so intense that I have to stop thinking because it is too, too deep to put more than a toe in for a single second.  The fact that Grafton died of cancer is another blow.  How is appendix cancer even a thing?  It makes me realize that for the last six months, I’ve been cavalier and jokey about my own experiences with breast cancer.  A lot of people have told me how brave and strong I am.  Not really.  I joke around because I don’t want to think for one minute that cancer is something to worry about, something that could take me away from my kids, leaving them all alone to face life without me.  Like facing the pain of losing my parents, the reality of the havoc cancer can have is also too, too much to think of for more than a minute.

Losing Sue Grafton is also a loss of Kinsey Millhone.  They both died together.  Maybe it’s crazy to mourn a character that lives on a page, but I loved them both and I am sad that they are gone.  It reminds me once again that you can just never really be sure what life has in store for you.  You just never know when the last time is going to be truly the last time. I am sorry for Grafton’s family.  I am sorry that Z is for Zero  will never be written and the alphabet series won’t be finished.  I am sorry that a voice I loved will never again spin a tale.  I know that I can take comfort that I have shelves of Grafton’s writing.  I will always delight in picking up one of the novels and instantly find myself transported to somewhere else, no many how many times I’ve traveled through the pages.  I am truly grateful for all the joy and laughter the writing has brought me through the years.  And most of all I will treasure what Grafton has taught me through Kinsey.  Face life with courage and tenacity.  And never give up, no matter what the odds.

Respectfully, MT