Last Week

Bill Richardson, Emilie Leduc

• Publisher: Groundwood Books
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN: 9781773065670

A child cherishes every second of their grandmother's last week of life in this sensitive portrayal of medical assistance in dying (MAiD).

"In this last week, there are seven days." That's one hundred and sixty-eight hours. Or ten thousand and eighty minutes. Or six hundred four thousand and eight hundred seconds. A child counts every second because this is their grandmother's last week of life. 

As friends and family come to call on Flippa—as Gran is fondly known—the child observes the strange mix of grief, humor, awkwardness, anger and nostalgia that attends these farewell visits. Especially precious are the times they have alone, just the two of them. Flippa, the child sees, has made up her mind. Like time, she is unstoppable. So as Sunday approaches, the child must find a way to come to terms with Flippa's decision. What is the best way to say goodbye?

Beautifully illustrated in black and white—with one unexpectedly joyful splash of color—Last Week is a nuanced look at what death with dignity can mean to a whole family, with an afterword and additional resources by MAiD expert Dr. Stefanie Green.

 

Key Text Features

illustrations

afterword

explanation

resources

 

Correlates to the Common Core State Standards in English Language Arts:

CCSS.ELA-LITERACY.RL.6.3
Describe how a particular story's or drama's plot unfolds in a series of episodes as well as how the characters respond or change as the plot moves toward a resolution.

Seconds

In this last week there are seven days.

In those days there are one hundred and sixty-eight hours.

In those hours there are ten thousand and eighty minutes.

In those minutes there are six hundred four thousand and eight hundred seconds.

That’s a lot of seconds. I wish there were more, but some things can’t be changed. Six hundred four thousand and eight hundred seconds. Those are all the seconds any week, even a last week, can hold.

Monday

“Make every second count.”

That’s what Flippa says. We call my gran Flippa because every day, no matter the weather, she swims in the sea. She puts on her wetsuit, cap, goggles and flippers. She walks down to the beach. Flippa-flop, flippa-flap. Neighbors hear her as she travels the three blocks there and the three blocks back. Flippa-flop, flippa-flap. They smile and wave.

Flippa can’t swim anymore. Her wetsuit hangs in the closet like a creepy rubber skin. Today, I put on her goggles and her flippers, and I walked into her bedroom.

“Boo!” I said.

She said, “Look who’s come to call. It’s the creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Who?” I asked, but before she could tell me the story, the phone rang. Again.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said.

But there’s not much later left.

All that’s left of later are five hundred eighteen thousand four hundred seconds.

Tuesday

Ring, ring, ring.

Ring, ring, ring.

If it’s not the phone, it’s the door buzzer. M...

Table of contents

• LastWeek_Int