“Today was hard,” she said. “Your dad is angry. At God. He kept going on about how there was so much he still wanted to do, all these things he still wanted to accomplish. But every time people come to visit him, they tell him that it’s God’s will, a test from God. Who the hell wants to hear that when they’re dying?” I clenched my jaw. Allah is the best of planners. Hadn’t Dad always believed this? Hadn’t I? And despite everything, I still wanted to. It was a singular source of comfort when trying to search for patterns of meaning, to make sense of a horrible situation. But it felt cruel to
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