“Si Robertson sat alone in his wheelchair beneath a gray and heavy sky, one hand resting gently on the cool stone of his brother’s grave.The name etched into the granite read simply: Phil Robertson. Quiet. Eternal.April 24, 1946 – May 25, 2025.A date that made time itself seem to pause — if only for a moment.He didn’t come with a crowd.He didn’t bring a sermon.Just a single hand holding a worn Bible…Si cleared his throat — not out of nervousness, but because the memories rushed in all at once.Then he looked down and whispered: “This might be the last time I visit you, big brother. But maybe next time… we’ll be walking that road home — together.””
phil The sky hung low and colorless, as if mourning with him. Beneath that quiet gray, Si Robertson sat motionless in…