It isn’t.
Some mornings, I open my eyes and reach for my phone before my mind catches up. For one soft, stupid second, I’m waiting for him.
A late-night question.
A blurry photo of some awful meal he was proud of cooking.
A text that says, Mom, can you send me $20? I don’t know where my money went.
Then I remember.
Caleb is gone.
Some days that truth settles over me quietly, like a blanket. Other days it hits like it’s brand new, and I have to sit on the edge of the bed until my hands stop shaking.
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