PS: I Hate You

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of illness and death.

In PS: I Hate You, Lauren Connolly confronts the complexities of grief, thoroughly exploring it through Maddy’s journey through her grief over Josh’s death. The novel highlights the idea that grief is never a single emotion; for Maddy, it’s physical (asthma attacks), behavioral (workaholism), psychological (guilt, anger, repression), and interpersonal (retreating from or lashing out at loved ones). The novel frames grief as a uniquely individual experience; Maddie’s specific journey through grief reshapes how she sees herself, others, and her future. Even the structure of the narrative, which follows the seasonal passage of time, mirrors the experience of grief as not a linear line but as a cyclical loop. The periods of grief ebb and flow, but they never truly stop.

Grief is a fractured, nonlinear, and deeply personal experience, especially for Maddie Sanderson, whose mourning process defies conventional expressions. From the first pages, Maddie questions herself: “What’s wrong with me? Why haven’t I cried?” (11). This recurring self-inquiry becomes a motif for Maddie’s internal conflict, as she wonders whether her stoicism is strength, emotional repression, or evidence that she’s inherited her mother and grandmother’s coldness. Her grief manifests not in weeping but in anger, sarcasm, emotional isolation, and guilt. It also appears in Maddie’s physicality, as her asthma resurfaces whenever the emotional weight she is carrying exceeds her capacity to manage it, as seen during her panic attacks in North Dakota and Alaska. With these very specific responses to grieving, Connolly highlights grief as an experience that is unique to each individual.

Connolly also highlights the paradoxical aspect of grieving, in which to be reminded of the person who has died is both painful and joyous. Josh’s posthumous scavenger hunt complicates Maddie’s mourning—though part of her resents the emotional burden it places on her, another part clings to the opportunity to reconnect: “There’s another open, bleeding wound in my heart that wants to do anything possible to connect with my brother again” (34). However, even the smallest reminders—like the memory of Josh’s old tattoo during the trip to Kansas—trigger overwhelming waves of sorrow and realization: “That piece of my brother, along with the rest of him, is ashes” (136). Through the task of scattering his ashes, Maddie confronts her loss repeatedly, cycling between denial, anger, and reluctant acceptance.

The exploration of Maddie’s grief also highlights the importance of support throughout the process. Her grief is shaped by the fear of how it will affect her relationships; she pushes away Jeremy and Tula, afraid that her erratic behavior will damage their friendships: “I’m terrified my messed-up grief will drive them away” (64). However, over the course of the novel, she comes to understand that those relationships can support her in her grief. It’s only through the support of Dom and her friends that she gradually allows herself to feel without judgment. Her final catharsis arrives in moments of vulnerability and honesty, as when she declares, “I know I’m the worst sister because I hate my brother for dying. But I do” (386). This admission reflects the full spectrum of grief, incorporating love, rage, resentment, and guilt, all of which, the novel assures, are valid and human. In Connolly’s narrative, grieving properly is less about outward displays of emotion and more about truthfully engaging with loss in all its chaos and contradiction, an experience that she delves into through Maddie’s unique and individual experience.