I was reaching for the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, a circadian morning medication for unadulterated energy that defined a young life unblemished by the discovery of coffee.

I was reaching for the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, when I noticed your body seated at the head of the table. In that moment, I remember everything.

Your posture was weighed down by the gravity of words unsaid. Your eyes, moist and red, refused to hide the history of a morning when faith met its ultimate challenger. Your voice shook when you spoke, and as it did the foundation of my childhood trembled at the magnitude of your message.
 

That morning, death found its way into my life.

Nine years later, it’s still looking for a way to get out.