“The Question”

John closed the dictionary and tossed it on the table. There was no accounting for why the question had arisen yet again. A few lines in a book could never explain the deeper mystery.

He had lived with the consequences of one horrible night for three years. Studied the past in order to understand the future and looked within for answers even when it was obvious that forces beyond his control were shaping events. He tried to believe in himself, despite the shroud of self-doubt that lay over all. Some days he was successful, many he was not. Failure wrought depression that no one could quite comprehend. Then he would sit alone, unable to discern direction or draw hope from the spirits of those who continued to support without question.

Were the events of June 6, 1995 accidental or decreed by fate? Was it God or the fickle whims of water and wind that chose a simple man of fact to ponder and prod the fate of the world?

John shook his head.

The accident rent divinity with sharp talons of disbelief. A murderous intensity meant to drive faith to the nether regions of a fractured heart. He had come to accept that his post coma existence was accidental, a kind term for an ongoing tumult that spit in the face of divine providence. How could an omniscient being so completely invest in such a frail, frightened figure?

John leaned back against the couch cushions and shut his eyes. What if he were wrong? What if childhood and adolescent assumptions about the role of God in all things were truer than his adult perceptions? Anger, resentment, guilt, and grief tainted his visions. No experience was completely objective. Maybe there were no accidents and Gene was right. Only time would tell.