Every few months, God reminds me that my time on this specific creation of His is not permanent.
I lost my great uncle today and while a good deal of the grief has passed, I’m still in a state of shock. This is one of the first times where I was in charge of relaying information and also was unable to escape into my writing like I do so often in times of strife.
My mother keeps telling me that this is all a part of life. All I can really think of is where is my miracle? Why doesn’t my family get to experience those miracles I read about where someone wakes after a stroke and then lives to be 100? Why don’t these things ever happen to my family?
I doubt I’ll ever get an answer to these questions, but I can’t help asking them.
I didn’t get a lot of writing done today, considering, but I’m still desperately seeking that escape that only a long session spent in a world of my own creation can allow.