When the Light Hits Just Right

“Nobody is as good as they seem,

or as bad as they seem.”

He wrote it down

before he died.

Folded it into one of the letters

he left for me—

the kind you’re only meant to read

after…

After the hospice care.

After the sickness.

After my world changed

and never changed back.

At first, I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

But I could feel it-

It had weight I hadn't grown into yet.

It was layered.

So I kept it.

Let it live quietly until I was ready to understand.

Now,

in the stillness before the day begins—

when I’m just breathing,

not trying—

that line returns

like light brushing the edge of something

I hadn’t looked at in a while.

It doesn’t rush.

It doesn’t preach.

It just lands.

And in that moment,

I remember:

No one is just one thing.

Just good.

Just bad.

Not even him.

Not even me.

We carry contradiction—

grace and sharpness,

love and imperfection.

He did.

So do I.

I used to try to sort people

into categories:

good / bad

safe / unsafe

right / wrong.

But that line—

his line—

reminds me there’s more to the middle

than I wanted to admit.

And there,

in that quiet shift,

the ripple begins.

Understanding,

not as resolution—

but as reflection.

Not peace,

but presence.

Because he’s not here

to answer the hard questions.

But he left me something better.

He left me the kind of truth

that keeps unfolding.

Not everyone lives in the middle.

Some live loud on the edges.

Some try to be saints,

or settle for the worst version of themselves.

But me—

I’ve tried to make a home

in the tension.

To hold both grace and grief.

To carry the words he gave me

and grow into them.

He’s gone.

But his voice still finds me

when the light is right.

And sometimes,

that’s all I need

to keep going.