Control
I sit down and begin thinking of the night I last saw Corey. You know, before he was hurt.
I try to remember if I said I love you before we parted. I have to have faith that we did, because we always did.
I try to figure out what I could have done differently that would have kept him alive. Should I have insisted he be home at midnight (even though he was an adult).
When he was here and hurt, is there something I could have done to save him.
I feel myself going down that lonely road, and I cry.
Then, as I reach up to wipe the tears from my eyes, I see the silver ring on my hand. It has the Lord’s Prayer engraved on it.
I recite the words silently to myself.
I am reminded that I’m not in control of what happened that night.
God is.
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