I walk by this little room every day of my life, hardly ever entering, but always noticing this little lamp. I replaced the old lightbulb with an “efficient” bulb and now it burns always, lighting the dark staircase late at night when my twins come home or when I go up early in the morning before dawn, to wake Elizabeth for school. The little light is always there helping us to find our way, never faltering, always shining. This was my mother’s lamp; it sat in her living room behind the sofa. It helped her to read the paper, to sew on a button, to look at picture books with Elizabeth. Now, it helps me to remember.