Asking Why

I was talking to someone the other day about asking why. Why did my daughter die so young? Why did she die at all? Why me? Is there life after death? If so, what form does it take? Do we all die when it's our time? Is there such a thing as an untimely death?

I've asked myself these questions and many others over and over again since my daughter died. There was a point when I thought that if I could decide what the answers (MY answers, at least) were, I would find some sort of peace. Eventually, I stopped asking because I wasn't coming up with any answers.

Two conclusions--first, no one can prove to me that a person dies at the time s/he is supposed to and second, I can't know what the afterlife is or isn't until I'm there. Thinking about it was only making my head hurt.

Do I lack faith? Yes, probably. I know there is more to this world, this life than what can be seen with my eyes and proven by hard science. Isn't that faith? I question everything though. Losing my daughter didn't strengthen my belief in these things that can't be seen. Then again, it didn't really weaken it.

In talking to this person just a day or two ago, I finally realized that even if I had definitive answers to all of my questions, I would still be angry and sad. My daughter would still be gone, and in the end, that's all that matters.

So I've made a tentative peace, with faith, with questions, and the lack of answers.