“Belief” is the story of what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age and question the world around you as a result. I was only 13 when my father passed away and the events that came after sometimes seemed more confusing than the loss itself. But there are always unexpected things to learn or grow into during grief. For me as a teenager, something that had been unfathomable also became a way to better understand myself.

Book details

36 pages (4.5″ x 6″), limited to 200 copies, signed

Artwork

Each volume of The Little Deaths features original artwork done exclusively for that book.

Excerpt from the book:

I stared at a blank piece of paper in the typewriter on the floor of my bedroom. Hunched over it, I practiced in my head the best approach to this lie. I wanted it to be convincing, but I couldn’t overdo it. Too much enthusiasm and effusiveness and everyone would know that it was satire—that I was making fun of them, of myself, of this entire year.

“Why Jesus Christ Is Important in My Life” was the theme of the short essay we had to prepare and read at our confirmation ceremony. The typewriter only produced letters in a script font, lending each word a saccharine appearance, as if they would be perfectly at home on a plaque bearing an inspirational poem. It was perfect for subterfuge.

I typed a paragraph, stared at it. I told myself not to think too much. This was supposed to be in my voice, personalized, heartfelt. I did what I was supposed to do: I capitalized “He” and “Him.” I talked about personal struggle. I constructed sentences about learning to overcome hardship with His guidance. I gave it a conclusion about strength, compassion, and understanding.

When I stood up in front of the congregation of the church in which I would never again set foot, however, I could not be completely numb. These pleasant faces, hushed, maybe a bit bored from hearing 13-year-olds stutter and mumble their way through turgid prose, looked proud of their families and friends and also like they’d heard it all before. What I had written was no different in tone, really, but I imagined I was sharing a secret. I was also horrified to realize as I read it out loud now that some of what was stamped into this paper in front of me was true.