When Christine Sexton took her own life at age 41 in a local jail cell, she left no message, never said goodbye, to her teenage daughter.

What she did leave was a bag of books.

There were classics such as To Kill A Mockingbird and a series of young adult novels written by Ellen Hopkins, many of them dealing with the ravages of crystal meth — the drug that contributed to the downward spiral of Sarah-Raspberry Epiphany Farmer's mother.

And there was House of Leaves.

Farmer, now 19, read them all after her mother's death in 2013 but couldn't tackle House of Leaves, an unconventional and polarizing novel written by Mark Danielewski in 2000.

The book "was nibbled on in the right corner," Farmer said, and had flecks of a bluish-teal paint on the cover.

Frustrated, she gave up on it in 2014 and sold it to Half Price Books on Hulen Street in Fort Worth. Years later, she regretted that decision.

Late last month, she decided to do something about it.

"I had been begging my fiance for a couple of days about going to a bookstore, and we just happened to be in Arlington ... and we saw a Half Price Books there," she said.

Sarah-Raspberry Farmer of Fort Worth holds a copy of the book House of Leaves, which was left to her by her mother after her death. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

An employee at Half Price Books on South Cooper Street in Arlington took her to the only copy of House of Leaves in stock.

She grabbed it, and the couple started for home. Then she examined the book, flipped through the pages and noticed something.

The upper right corner was dinged up. And on the cover were bluish dabs of paint.

"I cried and cried and cried," Farmer said. "I probably cried for hours."

Farmer's fondest childhood memories of her mother were formed along a creek in Joshua, where she spent every day with her parents.

"Every day for 10 years, that creek bed in the middle of nowhere," Farmer said. "There was peace. Just utter happiness."

Those are her fondest memories of her mother.

"She was a very loving mother," said Farmer, who lives in Fort Worth and first shared her story on Reddit. "A lot of people didn't see that toward the end, which sucks."

This photo of Sarah-Raspberry Farmer's parents — Troy Jason Farmer and Christine Sexton — was taken when she was about 2 years old, she said. (Photo courtesy of Sarah-Raspberry Farmer)

Farmer remembers both of her parents as loving and nurturing, instilling in her and her brother a love for books and art. When she was born, they named her Raspberry.

"My parents were hippies," she said. "They loved anything that was uncommon."

But Farmer's great-grandmother laid down an ultimatum: There was no way she was ever going to call anyone "Raspberry."

So her father added Sarah to the name, and thus Sarah-Raspberry Epiphany Farmer was introduced into the world.

"We were always reading or painting," said Farmer, who prefers to go by Raspberry. "I just remember a kind and warm, loving family."

But Farmer's mother got hooked on meth, which led to a divorce in 2010 and several stays in jail.

"I had no idea about hard drugs," Farmer said. "I grew up in a small town. I mean, everybody did them, but it was always hush-hush around the kids."

Here is one of the passages Sarah-Raspberry Farmer's mother highlighted in the book, House of Leaves. (Dallas Morning News / Loyd Brumfield)

Farmer said she's never done drugs and doesn't drink. But she saw how meth affected her mother.

"My vision was of this perfect fairy tale," Farmer said. "Even during the times when she was clearly on meth, she always put on a happy face for me."

Her parents went through counseling to save the marriage, but nothing worked. Farmer's father, Troy Jason Farmer, continued to support her mother after the split, paying all of her bills.

Her father, a tattoo artist otherwise known as "Troll," died this past New Year's Day, only a few months after he was diagnosed with colon cancer.

"It's been hard," Farmer said. "But I think I've gotten some closure."

That closure came from House of Leaves itself, a novel that is difficult to categorize. It's most often described as a literary horror novel.

When Farmer visited the Half Price Books in South Arlington, Sarah Weslow had been managing the store for just a couple of weeks. The two never interacted that day, but Weslow isn't surprised by what happened.

"I'm so glad that she found it. She was obviously going through a very difficult time," Weslow said. "You just wonder how many times it got bought after she first sold it until it got to us — that's just the magic of books."

Danielewski's debut novel isn't magical for everyone. It takes several forms: journal entries, conventional narrative, verse, footnotes and even lettered codes that have to be deciphered. At its heart is the story of a house that drives its occupants to distraction. But that explanation is too simple.

"Quite frankly, I'm not fond of it," Weslow said gently. "The writing is really hard to follow. I just didn't have the patience for it. For half the people who read it, it's their favorite book. For the other half, it's like, 'How can you read that crap?'"

Sarah-Raspberry Farmer's mother always highlighted passages she found interesting in the books she read, including this one from House of Leaves. (Louis DeLuca / Staff Photographer)

Farmer couldn't tackle it the first time around. Now she's in the middle of giving it a second chance, and she loves it.

"It's hard, but definitely a good read," she said. "I'm glued to it."

Shortly after she repurchased it, her fiance noticed something: passages outlined in pink highlighter. Sexton, Farmer's mother, always made notes in the books she read and highlighted things she thought were relevant to her life.

The other books Sexton left her are highlighted throughout, but House of Leaves only has a couple of passages like that.

One of them comes near the end:

"I took my morning walk. I took my evening walk. I ate something. I thought about something. I wrote something. I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of sum'things has always been and always will be you.

"I miss you."

Maybe Farmer's mother said goodbye after all.