Each day is a pondering of its own
making . . . or is it those sleepless
nights in which one finds those pesky
questions rather than all the answers?
I understood, from a very young age,
that life would gift us all a plethora of
questions, questions about everything,
everything that mattered. But, I thought
that our elder years would bring the
answers, real answers.
Much to my surprise, there aren't many
of those laying around. And when I
finally find one, it's usually of my own
making. What I didn't expect was to
find ever so many more questions.
I have found the volume to be vast,
and I'll freely admit, deeper! Sadly, I
recall the little girl, the little girl that
was me, asking the question, "Is my
dog going to heaven now that he has
died?"
And now I find my elder self asking
the question, "What is to become of
me as I approach my own passing?"
Virtually the same question, aging
right along with my own fading self.
I find myself left with only one last
question . . . "Will we ever be granted
the answers to the questions we seek?"
I'll let you know if I ever find out,
but it may be from the other side . . .
wherever that is?!
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