Things that make you go hmmmm....

My Granddaddy is 93 (soon to be 94). Mike was 39 when he died. Flip the numbers. Hmmmm.


Granddaddy survived both Pacific and European Tours in World War II. He has survived Rheumatic fever, tuberculosis, heart problems, and numerous other ailments.


Mike was blessed (and cursed) to survive his first wreck. He spent 2 months in the hospital. When he was able to get out of a wheelchair and walk on his own, he went full throttle for the next 19 years. For some reason, 39 years was his number. Why not 93? Why not 40? I want answers. I am past the anger part, I think. Maybe not. I just miss him. I want to call him and tell him some good news I got but...

The very thing that almost took his life 19 years ago, did so this time. Hmmmm.



I spend a lot of time in thought. Even in that place between dream, sleep, and awake, I am thinking. All the time, I am thinking about Mike. The hospital. Christmas. The wreck. His truck. The ventilator. Hunter. Laura. Injuries. Pain. The 2 worst phone calls, ever. Hmmmm.



What's he doing up there anyway? Why can't he still be Dad, and Bro', and Son, and Mike, and Michael, and Miichael (yes, two Is, for Julie's southern drawl)? Hmmmm.

What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. I read this in reference to the shootings at Fort Hood. When one is lost, we all lose. The brokeness of the world overwhelms me. Mike made this world a little better for a lot of people. Why is he not here? Hmmmm.

Questions without answers. The "hmmmms" of the world leave us empty, longing, hurting, searching.

My faith has not waivered. My "hmmmms" are human. Contemplation, not condemnation.

Hmmmm.

Rhonda