100 Books Like Thank You, Grandpa

This may be one of the most-read books in our house, which is saying something for a book about a gardening aficionado named Evan, whose dog dies in the first few spreads.

It’s hard for even our 2-year-old not to bristle when Evan, in his grief, violently destroys his beloved garden. But watching how he unintentionally nurtures a once prickly vine into a prized-winning pumpkin has all of us cheering with each read.

I love how this story doesn’t shy away from the deep pain that comes with losing someone we love and doesn’t sugarcoat the long, often lonely process of coming back to the surface for air. Kids are ready for this honesty, and this book does it with a gentle but honest sense of purpose. 

I cannot think of anything more intriguing than this hippopotamus named Elba dragging a big block everywhere she goes or anything kinder than this alligator named Norris who dances wherever he goes.

These characters draw you in and guide you in feeling loss, sadness, kindness, hope, and friendship. Norris gently walks with Elba, offering to lighten her heavy load. He is never pushy, always inviting – never judging, always hopeful. “Maybe tomorrow?” he says. Maybe that is what we all need – the strength and company of someone who can believe in tomorrow for us when we are lost in our own darkness of today.

I love the design of this book. Just holding it brings me comfort with its unique, calming illustrations and its board book size. Because this book speaks a universal truth from the heart to the heart, it appeals to all ages – babies to adults.

What universal truth? The truth that even if you cannot see me or hear me, even if I am not near you or in this world, my love is. 

I also love how the gentle flowing text meets children where they are and provides an opening for deep connections.

This is a book I would have loved to write and illustrate. “The bird was dead when the children found it.” says its opening line. 

There are many children’s books that deal with grief and loss but The Dead Bird is one of a kind. The kids in the story didn’t know the bird when it was alive. They only meet the bird after it has died and yet, they have a funeral for it. They sing for a bird that once flew and no longer will. They cry for a life that was, but no longer is. 

With child-like simplicity and directness, Robinson’s illustrations capture the human need for ritual and closure in the presence of death.

"I bit my mom on the toe this morning" might be one of my favorite opening lines for a picture book.

I love it when a sad book also makes room for playfulness and humor. It also has the loveliest illustrations, utilizing soft pencil lines and a limited color palette to match the gentleness of the text.

This book is a great example of how specificity can make a story feel so genuine and relatable, no matter who the reader is.

"Everybody’s family is a little nutso. But there’s nuts…and then there’s the Kwirks." A scavenger hunt to find the ashes of their late grandfather! That premise may seem macabre, but John David Anderson has a gift for plotting the oddball, yet heartfelt, storyline with memorable main characters. With Rion Kwirk and his nutty family, he has done it again. From the opening chapter when a clown appears at the Kwirk’s door, singing a message about the death of their grandfather, I knew I was in for a hilarious, fun-filled journey—one that reminded me that being out of the ordinary only makes you extraordinary.

This book drenched me in the romance of a woman escaping her real life, and for most of the book, it made me want to fly to Positano and never return.

I loved how Serle uses magical realism to help Katy grieve the loss of her mother and explore how she feels about her own marriage. I was heartbroken and in awe throughout the book, and I’ve never seen a mother-daughter relationship explored so tenderly as Katy and Carol. 

Asha visits India every summer, filling her yellow suitcase with gifts for Grandma. When Asha returns to California, Grandma fills the suitcase with gifts for Asha. This summer, though, Grandma is gone, and the house isn’t the same without her there. Grandma’s final gift for Asha’s yellow suitcase—a quilt made from her saris that she created before she died—brings comfort to both Asha and the reader. 

This story allows readers to explore how a place feels without a special loved one there, and colorful illustrations bring brightness to this difficult subject. An author’s note shares that Sriram and her family also lost a grandparent and she used her family’s experiences as inspiration for this story in the hopes that it will bring comfort to others.

For me, the fact that this intriguing book is part of a series called The Art of Living says it all. Philosopher Todd May argues that while death is “tragic, arbitrary and meaningless,” it’s also the most important fact about us as humans.

What stayed with me long after I’d finished reading was the idea that immortality would be far worse than death. With no end in sight, May argues, life would become meaningless. Why, in fact, would we bother doing anything at all since we could endlessly put it off till later? As a writer who needs a deadline to get anything done, I couldn’t agree more. Endlessly thought-provoking, this little book punches far above its weight.

I’ve read this book three times, drawn by my fascination with death and how people die. The book is well-researched, detailing the final days of great minds—writers like Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, John Updike, Dylan Thomas, Maurice Sendak, and James Salter.

Like a skilled biographer, Roiphe doesn’t judge her subjects but presents their endings as they were. Yet, a discerning reader can’t help but draw conclusions. Susan Sontag, the towering intellect, fought death until the end. Dylan Thomas, the great poet, was self-destructive and pathetic at the close of his life. Sigmund Freud chose to end his life with the help of a physician.

Roiphe mentions in her preface that she would have liked to write about other famous deaths—William Blake’s peaceful passing, Honoré de Balzac’s death by overwork, Primo Levi’s fall, and more. I wish she had explored these as well. If she did, I’d devour that book too.