I struggle to write on a day like this.
On the only day that is like this.
Anything I might say feels at the same time like it is too much and not enough.
‘Too much’ because sometimes words shouldn’t happen.
‘Not enough’ because no words will really ever be.

I woke up at 4:48 this morning, the very same moment on the clock when Robb called for me all those years ago.

ClockMy grandma used to tell the story of the chiming clock above her fireplace, how it stopped ticking only two times in history: when her father-in-law died, and then when her husband died, each in her home.

Each of those moments, time literally stopped.

At 4:48 this morning, I woke from a dead sleep.  I looked at the clock and whispered, “…no way.”

I’m reminded that all of this is bigger than me.  That the spiritual realm is only a dimension we cannot see.  And that maybe Robb isn’t far away from me at all.

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