As soon as I read the text, a gasp escaped from my mouth.

My hand immediately found its way to my chest as it embraced my shock.

And my phone fell to the floor.

Eric Jerome Dickey, one of my two favorite fiction writers, had passed away at the age of 59.

We were only five days into 2021. Yet here I was receiving information that turned my joyous day into one of sorrow, sadness and perplexion. Instead of pushing the feelings aside in favor of continuing with the work that was before me, I gave myself grace to sit with my thoughts for a while as I reflected on the impact EJD’s legacy had on my life.

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