If

It's now seven years since my cousin's sudden death. This is the first year that I haven't been a complete basket case the month of the anniversary.

That's not to say I've forgotten. In fact, the opposite. Her death has sunk so deeply into the fibres of my muscles and the neural pathways of my brain that in many ways, it's simply a part of my body now. The way I walk now would not be the same way I would walk at this age if had she not died that day. There is no separating me from that night because to take everything that her death affected out of me with some magic vacuum would inevitably take away sinews, bone, and blood. The very shape of my heart -- my blood-pumping organ -- would be altered.

I'm not saying that's a good thing. I'm simply saying that that experience and me -- the person I am at the core of my being -- are inseparable. Even if my mind forgets one day, my body never will. Every cell of the past seven years has been built on that night.

What if she had not died that day?

With every passing day it becomes harder to imagine. I no longer remember what it was like to not feel that hollow ache of loss. I can't fathom what my faith would be like had my prayers for her life been answered. Perhaps I never would have turned my back. Perhaps I would still pray regularly. Perhaps I would still have friends and those in authority at college would not have given up on me. Perhaps my marriage would be better. Perhaps my in-laws would think I was nicer. Perhaps I would still be the inspiration I had wanted to be.

If she had lived... if she had lived, I wouldn't be so bitter and apathetic and numb now. People who tell you bitterness is a choice have not gone through the hell of loss, and if they have, they're lying. Bitterness is inevitable when everyone you love dies, when the few who live turn their backs on you after promising they would be there for you no matter what. Sure, the Bible says 'rejoice,' but even Jesus screamed on the cross, 'why have You forsaken me?'

If she had lived, I could be the happy person that everyone wants me to be. I wouldn't carry all this pain around with me, in the very marrow of my iron-stripped bones. No amount of counselling or therapy, no matter how specialised, will ever be able to suck her death out of the cells of my body. You could wipe my brain clean like a brand new hard drive, but my muscles will remember. My joints will remember. My heart will remember. My brain may not be able to tell you who, but my body will know that someone is dead who wasn't supposed to be. You can tell me it was her time all you want, but you're wrong. It's never time for a nine-year-old to die.

You can tell me it was Satan all you want... but God is sovereign even over Satan and He did nothing. Just let him waltz in and take her like a five-cent candy in the bowl at the bank. As if she was nothing and meant nothing. As if he (and I'm not sure if I mean God or Satan) thought we weren't going to notice.

If she hadn't died, I would never think of God like this.

Maybe this is what God meant when He said He would harden Pharoah's heart. I wish I could come back. I wish none of this had happened and I could love God again; I really do. I miss those days when everything was so clear. Difficult, but clear.

If she hadn't died, things would have been so much different... so much better. I could have been the person I should have been. I can't anymore. I can act like I am, but I'm not that wonderful person at my core anymore. And I wonder why I was spared when letting me live and her die only served to turn me into this emotional black hole.