But it was her husband who spoke to me this afternoon.
By the time my father is discharged from hospital, the skies seem to be weeping with me. I drive my parents home in the pouring, pouring rain, carefully, slowly, and I try to keep my mind on the road, as Pradeep's words rise and fall in my head. Coma. Bleak. Oxygen. Brain. Vital. She is so vital, so brilliant, so important to life. I believe in miracles. I know that God can perform them. I just don't know if He will.
Heaven weeps for her
and so do I, asking: WHY?
God never Replies.