Why?

The question I ask is Simple One that has been asked For thousands of years. I ask God, Crying. The family, Remembering. The doctors, Angry. Nobody can tell me The answer to my question. Silence meets my plea, My demand, My scream to the universe. Others ask My question. Everyone wants to know, but No one does. The question That inspired genius, That broke boundaries, That wrote and rewrote the limits of this world Is short. Three small letters, yet It feels enormous in my mind. Three small letters, yet It seems the most important of all. Why? Why is there death? Why did he die? Why did they say he was fine? Why could they not save him? Why, Why, Why? I will never know. We will never know. Me, and everyone who hurts. We know we cannot find out why. We know it is pointless, But still, we ask. Why? So maybe I should ask A different question. Like, How? How do I heal? How do I move on while still remembering? Or What? What can I do? What should I say? Or When? When do I cry? When do I laugh? Or Maybe I should not ask a question. Maybe I should love I should care I should be there for the people who need me Even when it hurts. Maybe I do not need To know why. Because I cannot know why It happened I can only know That it did. I could fight For justice For the doctors who Said it was fine Said it was normal Said he did not need help When he did. I could make them pay for what they did. Or I could choose Forgiveness Even though They don’t Deserve it. I am selfish. I do not want to forgive I want to hate. But hate will not bring him back. And I am ashamed. Ashamed because He would have forgiven. So I will not ask why And I will forgive. In memoriam J.R.F.