Well, the lights outside are turned off, have been for a while now. I miss them. I don’t know this little boy, but I have read his story and his mother’s words and I keep thinking of him. Last year, this time, I didn’t know Thomas existed; I don’t know how I came to his site. But come I did and, now, extraordinarily, I feel I must keep something lit.

I have Thomas’ lamp now: a brass stand and an amber light in the old north porch window. And it shines.