I meant to stop what I was doing yesterday at 2:49 pm. In Boston, at the White House, and probably in other places as well, there was to be a moment of silence at the exact time when, one year ago, two bombs exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, claiming three lives and injuring nearly three hundred. I lived in Boston for eight years — almost seven of them in the South End, half a mile from the site of the bombing. It’s a place I probably walked past hundreds of times, heading to and from the T, shopping, meeting friends, just taking a stroll. I even bought a pair of running shoes — the only running shoes I’ve ever bought — at the Marathon Sports whose front window was blown in by the blast.

When the news first broke that day, and I saw images of that familiar storefront in the wake of the explosion, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I reacted to the tragedy in the same way one might react to news about a family member or loved one. Thanks to social media, all of my friends in the area were quickly and happily accounted for, but my heart was still broken for the city I would always consider home. You see, I may have grown up in Cleveland, but I am a Bostonian for life.

Well, 2:49 pm came and went without notice, the casualty of a busy workday. Riding the bus home last night, I felt a pang of regret when I realized I had missed it. I had wanted to experience that moment of connection — to my fellow Bostonians, and to something much greater as well. I imagined myself seated at my desk in silence, holding all those affected by this tragedy in my heart, and feeling bolstered by the knowledge that I was one of many in that moment. In times of loss, it is so easy to default to feelings of loneliness. And it is such an enormous comfort to be reminded that you are not in fact alone.

I don’t listen to KEXP as much as I used to. It became too painful after Aubrey passed away. The two are inextricable — if not for KEXP, I would never have met Aubrey, and without Aubrey, my devotion to KEXP would not have been so fast and furious. Every now and then, I will tune in (after all, they do play incredible music), and the experience is always bittersweet, in varying proportions between the two. But if I am yearning for a connection to the friend I miss so dearly, there’s really no better way.

On this somber anniversary of the Boston Marathon tragedy, I knew I needed the kind of comfort that only KEXP could provide. So I tuned in to John Richards’ Morning Show and listened as he paid tribute to the startling number of tragedies that occurred on the 15th of April (Boston, Hillsborough, the Titanic, Abraham Lincoln) while also reminding us of life’s many joys and reasons to keep moving forward. He played a song that has always spoken to me, “This Year,” by The Mountain Goats. Moments later, I received a text message from Aubrey’s husband, Chris, who was also listening to the show and had been emotionally leveled by this same song, which he associated with an especially poignant memory of his wife.

As we traded messages back and forth, I felt Aubrey’s bright, warm presence surround me, and more than anything I felt grateful for whatever impulse had led me to turn on KEXP that day, bearing the important reminder that I was not in fact alone. Practically reading my mind, Chris wrote to me, “Coincidence isn’t always the right word, is it?”

No, I thought, smiling. It is often something so much greater.

Marathon Sports, reopened after the bombing. September 22, 2013.

Candles in the front window of Marathon Sports. September 22, 2013.

Copley Square, Boston. September 22, 2013.

Copley Station, Boston. September 22, 2013.