And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer

by Fredrik Backman

Isn’t that the best of all life’s ages, an old man thinks as he looks at his grandchild. When a boy is just big enough to know how the world works but still young enough to refuse to accept it.

“Our teacher made us write a story about what we want to be when we’re big,” Noah tells him. “What did you write?” “I wrote that I wanted to concentrate on being little first.” “That’s a very good answer.” “Isn’t it?

“Why are you holding my hand so tight, Grandpa?” the boy whispers again. “Because all of this is disappearing, Noahnoah. And I want to keep hold of you longest of all.” The boy nods. Holds his grandpa’s hand tighter in return.

He learned his lesson; he was a different man when Noah was born, became someone else as Grandpa than he had been as a father.

“What does it feel like?” “Like constantly searching for something in your pockets. First you lose the small things, then it’s the big ones. It starts with keys and ends with people.”

Everything I am came from her, she was my Big Bang.”

It’s an awful thing to miss someone who’s still here.”

“And I don’t think you need to be scared of forgetting me,” the boy says after a moment’s consideration. “No?” The corners of the boy’s mouth reach his earlobes. “No. Because if you forget me then you’ll just get the chance to get to know me again. And you’ll like that, because I’m actually a pretty cool person to get to know.”

“But the universe gave you both Noah. He’s the bridge between you. That’s why we get the chance to spoil our grandchildren, because by doing that we’re apologizing to our children.”

“Darling obstinate you. It’s never too late to ask your son about something he loves.”