Grandpa Never Fixed the Broken Clock

Grandpa Never Fixed the Broken Clock My grandpa could fix any clock in the world. Except one. Hundreds of clocks ticked in his little shop. But the big one above his bench always said four seventeen. Grandpa, it's broken. Why don't you fix it? He just smiled. That one is right twice a day. That's enough. Customers offered to buy it. He always said no. Every year, on the same winter day, he closed the shop and sat under it with a cup of tea. When Grandpa passed away, the shop came to me. I finally took the old clock down to fix it. Behind it was a folded hospital bracelet. My name. My birthday. And a note. Four seventeen a.m. The doctors said he wouldn't make it. He did. I was born too early. Grandpa stopped the clock the minute I took my first breath. Dad told me, he called it the best minute of his life. He never wanted another minute to take its place. I hung it back on the wall. Still at four seventeen. Some things aren't broken. They're just waiting. Comment FOREVER.