In response to Martha Redbone

If the bullet landed between your toes, maybe I could believe in miracles. Instead, it drilled a third nostril two centimeters from your brain.

We were walking to the mailbox when we heard a whistle. I remember tugging your pant leg like a church bell. You collapsed, not quite dead. I waved my arms at the house on the hill. Blood watered the grass.

Later that day, you emerged from the hospital with stitches, gripping a shining brass seed in a plastic cup. It was meant to grow reassurance, rattling: “your father isn't dead.”

It was a .22 hollow point, a round commonly used to kill squirrels and assassinate gang bangers. We were spending Thanksgiving at grandpa’s farm, so authorities assumed a hunter had missed his prey. I remember reading the abyss black newspaper headline. Something like: "Man Struck By Stray Bullet, Makes Miraculous Recovery."

Seventeen years later, our family uses "miraculous" to describe your survival. They're Christian, but I'm skeptical of any fate. If Jesus wanted to save you, he could have guided the shot below your neck, through your shoe, barely grazing skin.

Still, most weeks you'll call me, asking about Sheridan or how I'm living, and I try believing divine intervention. What if the bullet had pierced your brain, killing you? The bullet would have ruined our lives, but this morning, I received a voicemail that ended with "Mom really misses you. Be careful. The roads are icy.” Some moments feel like miracles because of the love they create.

Maybe it's a miracle I'm listening to your voice, but not literally.

One month from now, I will sit in a yellow chair and recount your red hands to my psychiatrist, how whenever wind whistles through the keys of a tree, I secretly steel myself.

She'll whisper phrases like "We are thirsty because water exists" or "Depression is another word for wheelchair" Then, I'll feel hopeful again. I'm sorry miracles don't bring me solace, Dad. Do you turn your doubts into thankfulness? Where have you stashed the questions?

Love demands I search for answers. I pray at night when no one can hear me.