Little Matches: A Memoir of Finding Light in the Dark – Book Review

Grief isn’t a story. Until it becomes one.

There’s grief, and then there’s grief that leaves you gasping for breath. “Little Matches” by Maryanne O’Hara is the latter. It’s a book that doesn’t just tell a story—it sits with you, presses into your chest, and makes itself at home in the quiet spaces of your heart. And yet, somehow, it doesn’t leave you drowning. Instead, it hands you a match in the darkness.

Maryanne’s daughter, Caitlin, was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis (CF) at two years old. If you don’t know much about CF, let’s just say it’s the kind of disease that takes and takes—until, one day, it takes everything. Caitlin fought it for 31 years, waiting for a lung transplant that came too late. The book is Maryanne’s attempt to make sense of the unbearable: a mother outliving her child.

You’d think this would be a book about suffering. And it is. But it’s also about the exquisite beauty in the in-between moments—the laughter, the wisdom, the unexpected signs that Caitlin’s presence didn’t just disappear into the void. This isn’t a memoir that neatly ties up grief with a bow and a pep talk about moving on. It’s raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. If you’ve ever lost someone, you’ll see pieces of your own grief in these pages. And if you haven’t, well, this book will prepare you for the inevitable.

Maryanne and Caitlin weren’t just mother and daughter. They were spiritual co-pilots, constantly asking the big questions: Why are we here? What happens when we die? The book doesn’t give you clean answers—because let’s be honest, no one has them—but it does offer a perspective that makes the questions feel less lonely. After Caitlin’s death, Maryanne begins noticing uncanny synchronicities, little nudges from the universe that suggest Caitlin might still be around. You don’t have to believe in the afterlife to appreciate the deep longing behind those moments. When someone you love is gone, you’ll take any sliver of proof that they’re still with you.

What makes “Little Matches” stand out is its structure. It’s not just a linear retelling of events. It weaves together journal entries, emails, and text messages—Caitlin’s words breathing through the pages, reminding us that she was here, that she mattered, that she loved and was loved fiercely. This approach makes the book feel intimate, like you’re scrolling through a friend’s messages, piecing together a story that was never meant to end this soon.

And let’s talk about the writing. Maryanne O’Hara is a novelist, and it shows. The prose is lyrical without being flowery, honest without being self-indulgent. She doesn’t just describe grief—she lets you sit in it, feel its texture, understand its weight. Some passages hit so hard you have to close the book and take a breath. Others make you pause, reread, and think, “Yes. This. This is exactly what loss feels like.”

But here’s what surprised me: I expected this book to wreck me. And it did. But it also left me with something I didn’t expect—hope. Not in the Hallmark sense, not in a “things happen for a reason” kind of way. It’s a quieter hope, one that acknowledges the darkness but also the light that peeks through the cracks. As Caitlin once quoted Leonard Cohen, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

I won’t lie. This book isn’t an easy read. If you’re currently raw from loss, it might be too much. But if you’re willing to sit with someone else’s grief, to witness a mother’s love stretching beyond life itself, “Little Matches” will change you. It’s not just a book about death. It’s a book about love—messy, painful, transcendent love. And in the end, isn’t that what matters most?