My mother held a Toronto Public Library card for 45 years before she died this past April. A few days before she passed—literally in the same conversation we had about her funeral—she reminded me to return her library books so that “other people can enjoy them too.”

I got my first library card in the late 70’s at the Finch avenue West branch. She would drop me at children’s story hour and disappear into the adult stacks. I loved everything about those visits—the card pockets in the back of books, the satisfying thunk of the date stamp, even the growing evidence of our terrible track record returning things on time. We accumulated fines like other families accumulated frequent flyer miles. As a teen, I once owed $120. In retrospect, a bargain for what I got in return. (TPL eliminated late fees a few years ago, which would have saved us both a fortune—but probably wouldn’t have taught me the same lessons about consequences.)

I was a lonely kid, and the library made me feel less alone. Surrounded by all those stories, I always had company. Libraries stayed with me my whole life—different branches, different formats, but always there. My mom stayed loyal to print books and the ritual of browsing shelves. During COVID, when she couldn’t visit in person, TPL started delivering books to her house in a large, red canvas bag. Dozens at a time, every month. She’d devour them all and wait like a kid for the next delivery.

I’d dreamed about doing this walk for years as a way to give back but kept finding reasons it was impossible. Too big. Too much planning. Too weird. Who walks to a hundred libraries? Then I told my mom about it during one of those last conversations, and her whole face changed. "Atta girl," she said, like I’d finally learned to return books on time.Did I mention I was her favourite?

When I started talking about this walk to friends, every single person had a library memory of their own. Turns out we’re all carrying our own TPL stories around.

This walk is long overdue—literally and in every other way. It’s my thank you to the institution that gave my mother and me so much, and my way of returning what we borrowed so the next person can have their turn.