By Cece Meng
When Old Turtle takes his last swim, the creatures of the sea gather to remember everything he did for them.
On the very first page, Old Turtle takes his last breath and the waves carry him gently away. That's the sad part, and it's over before you've really settled in. Everything after is the other sea creatures. The young turtles remember that he taught them to swim. The otters remember he loved to play and was always laughing. A manatee remembers getting tangled in a fishing net and Old Turtle working him loose. A starfish remembers being rescued. One by one they say what he did for them, and what builds up is the picture of one ordinary long life that touched more creatures than he probably ever noticed. By the end the whole sea is full of him.
This is the one that puts a little distance between your child and the loss. Nobody here is a grandpa; they're turtles and otters, and that bit of distance is what lets a young or tender child feel the shape of the thing without it being about their own person. It also does something a lot of the other grief books don't. It's about a life adding up: if a grandparent was the one who taught your child things, how to swim, how to fish, how to whistle, this hands them the idea that those lessons are still here and are still the person. There's almost no sadness on the page. Mostly it's gratitude.