Over 6 years ago my sister called from Michigan and left me a voice mail message that I’ll never forget. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I think you know what it is.” She was right.
Foggy morning view of the grove
I knew my dad was dead.
Significant events always come with stories, and when I called my sister back she told me the story of how he died. It was a story I would hear many times over the next several weeks, from several people – where they were, how they found out, how it happened. We turn important stories in our hands, listen to them from every angle in order to grasp their enormity.
Posted by Moon Over Martinborough 
