Why?

I’ve asked myself a million whys.

Why now?

Why them?

Why me?

The questions rise like smoke from a fire I didn’t start, curling around my thoughts, stinging my eyes, suffocating my sleep. They loop in circles…wide, dizzying, merciless…around the same hollow space where answers should be but aren’t. I chase them anyway, as though if I run long enough, I’ll stumble into something that makes sense.

But loss doesn’t speak the language of logic.

It doesn’t negotiate or explain.

It doesn’t apologize.

It is the thief that slips through the locked doors of a life, takes what was most precious, and leaves fingerprints you cannot scrub off.

And so here I am…sifting through memories like clues, rewinding moments like surveillance footage, picking apart every decision, every second, every breath like a detective of the impossible.

As if one more angle, one more replay, one more whispered why

might rewrite the ending.

But I am learning something…

I will exhaust myself trying to find fairness in the timing, the logic in the taking, the reason to make the absence hurt less.

Sometimes there is only the silence,

the kind that doesn’t just fill a room

but settles into your chest

and rearranges the way your heartbeat sounds.

And yet… somehow, beneath all that ruin,

beneath the shattered why’s and the bruised faith and the long nights,

there is a strange form of mercy.

Not the kind that fixes anything,

but the kind that keeps you from collapsing under the weight of what can’t be fixed.

A mercy that whispers,

You don’t have to understand to survive.

You don’t have to solve what broke you.

You don’t need answers to keep going.

I don’t know why any of it happened.

But I know this:

The God who owes me no explanation

still sits with me in the questions.

And somehow, impossibly,

that is enough for today,

for this breath,

for this one small step forward into a world forever changed.

Maybe healing isn’t found in the why.

Maybe it’s found in the God who stays

even when the why never comes.