3:35pm, August 4, 2026

GRIEF

I’ll forever question God.

Last Friday, at his burial, I was asked to thank God for His mercy. Mercy? What mercy do we speak of? All I asked was that I would never have to bury another loved one again.

Tuesday. 11:00 a.m. I get a text. “Am I aware you’re in the ICU?” Yes, I reply. I was told your family members were praying.

12:42 p.m. I get the call. My legs fail me. For the first five minutes, I’m transfixed. Everything becomes a hazy blur.

Is this because I didn’t ask for his mercy?

I snap out of my haziness, try to book a ride, and fail. I call the driver instead. He comes to pick me up and tries to calm me down. “She’ll be fine,” he says. Then I get another call asking if it’s true, and I can no longer hold it in. She is dead, I scream in tears. The rest of the ride to the hospital passes in shock. I get there and stagger toward the second floor.

I see them. They confirm it. It’s true.

I cannot process it. I have gone into shock.

I hate hospitals. I have always hated them. I hate them even more now.

I still hear the ICU monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep.

I cannot unhear it. I see the flat line on the monitor connected to you. I had only ever seen that in movies. Your eyes are open. Your mouth is open. But you are lifeless. “We revived her four times and stopped after the fifth attempt,” someone tells me.

Sandra, Where is your soul?

Where is the thing that made you alive and bubbly?You said you were coming back to work. I told you to take care. We shared the same desk. I still have your USB cord, when are you coming to scream at me for it?

Where is your laughter? The mischievous glint in your eyes? Surely it cannot all be gone. Where has it gone?

Why are you connected to a gas cylinder? Isn’t that meant for cooking?

How were you so strong only days ago… and now so still?

Just like his body, yours is limp now too. In twelve days, death has robbed us twice. Who is death? Why is it stealing from us? What do we owe it? You served the Lord so faithfully. You were the happiest on Sundays. The most beautiful on Sundays. Why didn’t He keep you? Why wasn’t His mercy enough to sustain your breath? Why should I be grateful?

Why should I thank God for death? Why do I have to carry this burden? Why was your life cut short?

Why can’t this be like the movies? A character disappears… But in other movies, they’re still alive. Breathing. Laughing. Why are you simply gone? To be lowered into the ground? What’s happening inside the ground?

Where are your souls gone?

Can you both please come back? I love stories. Tell me this one. Tell me what the journey is like. Tell me if it’s better there… so I can understand why you had to leave. Or is there only silence? Only nothingness?

Where are your souls gone?