“To love someone is to see a miracle invisible to others.”
— FRANCOIS MAURIAC
I am likely the only patron of this little diner in a small town, adjacent to rare white sands, to see a miracle in their everyday objects. A mug of coffee with an early morning message, observed but with little notice. Sugar? No thank you. It was delivered anyway. How long did it take for me to see? Not long. But there it was. A coincidence? I don’t think so. It has been 35 months. I believe with every fiber of my being that she is with me everywhere. And when the mass of grief threatens to immobilize me, at some point I remember to come back to the diner and believe.