Thirty days

Thirty days have passed since my husband disappeared.

Each night I pray he is alive somewhere. My heart doesn’t feel that he has passed on, but the heart is a treacherous place.

Meanwhile, I search for the right words to tell my oldest child. My youngest simply points at his picture and repeats his name like a summoning.

My heart breaks for my two daughters as I wonder if they will grow up in a cold, harsh world without the man that cradled them in his arms.

And I?

I continue to pray for a resolution, an end to the question where is he?

God knows.

God doesn’t sleep.

This can’t last forever.

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