It’s not that I am afraid of death. I’m just afraid of, well, void. Tell me, what happens when I need to ask you a question and you’re not there? You’re not there when you always always were. What happens when I can’t help fulfill dreams you’ve waited a lifetime to reach: walking me down the aisle (we practiced our father-daughter dance since I was six), playing with grandchildren, and traveling overseas with Mom as a smelly old couple? What happens when I miss you? How does one fill a void so very important and so very unique?

Right now, all signs point downward. And I wish I had enough spiritual faith to invest my emotions on a sign more optimistic, but I don’t. Ironically, the genuine hunger for prayer seems to have flown out the window, faster than your ability to lead a life we view as normal.

God, if anything I say to you is sincere, it’s this: please do something spectacular.