Aunty C

The last time I spoke to her before she died she was sobbing on the phone.
‘I can only see darkness, I can only see darkness,’ she cried. ‘I can’t see any light.’

And I, being me, silently tearing on the other side, unable to say anything, frozen, trying desperately to keep away from any kind of pain in any kind of way, said ‘We are praying for you, oh aunty C don’t cry, we are praying for you.’

And did I pray for her? Did I pray enough?

Did I tell God to ease her grief?

I did.

But not enough.

Not nearly enough.

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