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  • Every day, or almost every day, I try to take a break at 2:43 PM to remember my brother. Sometimes I forget and the time passes me by, and I feel guilty. Sometimes I remember but my constructed moment of silence feels too forced. Usually I just close my eyes and try to play back old memories in my head, the good ones, like playing NHL ’94 in my room on summer nights, or driving around Cherry Hill in a 1985 Mazda. When I force that playback, I find with each passing day it becomes more difficult to conjure authentic, unique memories and much easier to just replay what have become my memory’s stock photos.

    Today my break time came and I didn’t miss it, but I didn’t force it either. Something happened that’s so rare that I almost feel it’s new. I glanced at my computer clock: 2:43. I glanced at my phone clock: 2:43. I looked up at the two photographs of Seth hanging on my office wall. I smiled. I felt…something. Whatever it was, I think it was good. It was that feeling you get when you think of something wonderful and the emotion rushes up your spine. I thought of how much time has passed since Seth died, and how I’m now almost two years older than he was when he died. I thought of how much I’d changed, and how he never would. I kept glancing at the clocks, expecting the moment to pass ever so quickly to 2:44 as it often does, but the time hadn’t changed. I said to myself, “You’re still here?”

    Then I smiled and said, “Stay with me a little longer.”
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