Is God Still Good When…?

I trace my finger over the outline of her baby portrait. Dated and a bit color-bleached, I gaze at my daughter’s sweetness staring at me from behind the glassed frame. I mark her wide eyes, button nose, and tendrils of hair. I follow the curve of her smile and caress her face. A tear drops from my chin and splashes onto the glass image. I wipe it from her cheek with the edge of my sleeve.

The hospital bed is a white mountain. My twenty-six-year-old daughter’s still body…

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