And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer

by Fredrik Backman

Grandpa knows he’ll always manage, because there are two things in life in which Grandpa’s faith is unwavering: mathematics and his grandson.

“Sorry, Noahnoah, I forgot that thoughts aren’t silent here.” Grandpa always calls him “Noahnoah” because he likes his grandson’s name twice as much as everyone else’s.

Falling in love with her meant having no room in his own body. That was why he danced.

“We had too little time,” he says. She shakes her head. “We had an eternity. Children and grandchildren.” “I only had you for the blink of an eye,” he says. She laughs. “You had me an entire lifetime. All of mine.” “That wasn’t enough.”

That’s where everything is kept. All the most important things.” “Like what?” “Everything we’ve done.

“What’s on those pieces of paper?” the boy asks. “Those are all my ideas,” Grandpa replies. “They’re blowing away.” “They’ve been doing that for a long time.”

There’s no greater mystery in the universe than a human.

“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.”

“It hurts less and less. That’s one good thing about forgetting things. You forget the things that hurt too.”

“That sounds messy.” “Life sometimes is.”