How the Light Gets In

by Joyce Maynard

Remember this,

“It’s okay to be sad,” Toby says. “Life is sad sometimes. Just not always. It’s a combination.”

“The thing is,” he says, “I don’t think my sister’s mad at you, really. She’s mad at the world. You’re just the person it’s easiest to blame.” “Why is that, do you think?” Eleanor asks him. “Because you just care so much,” Toby says. “You probably can’t help it. But you just care so much all the time.”

We don’t tell our children who they should be, Eleanor knows now. They tell us.

quotation from Jimmy Carter. “I have one life and one chance to make it count for something . . . My faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I am, whenever I can, for as long as I can, with whatever I have to try to make a difference.”

You mourn what’s lost and locate good where you can.

Here’s what you did—if you were wise. You held on to these small, good moments, the small, good things, and tried not to be greedy for more. They’re like the pieces of expensive broken bowl lined up on the windowsill that catch the light. The times when it hits the glass might be rare. You never knew where you’d find one of these moments, or when. Best not to go looking for them. Keep your eyes open and they’d appear. And for one fleeting moment anyway, you remembered what happiness felt like.

“It’s hard missing people,” Eleanor says. “But just think how much harder it would be if you had no one to miss.”

Once that person is gone, there’s nobody left to remember the things you shared with them.

Thank you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I love you—the Ho‘oponopono prayer

but I just needed my mom.” “We all need that sometimes,” Eleanor tells her. Imperfect as our mothers may be, we need them.