The Answered No

My sister called.

She got the job—

the one I used to pray for,

the one I thought would fix me.

Now she's breaking

into the phone.

Says the hours are killing her.

Says she can't breathe

under the weight

of finally

getting

what she wanted.

I'm sitting here

grateful

for every unanswered prayer.

I don't tell her this.

Don't tell her I spent years

aching

for the exact thing

that's destroying her now.

Don't tell her

that the no I got

is the mercy

I didn't know I needed.

She asks what I think she should do.

I don't say:

you got what I prayed for

and it's killing you,

which means

the prayers that didn't answer

were the ones saving my life.

I just listen

to her voice

fracture,

and I understand

for the first time:

the gift

isn't always

what you're given.

Sometimes

it's what you're spared from.

Sometimes

it's the prayers

that never reach God,

the closed doors,

the voice

that says no

when you're so sure

you need yes.

She's crying.

I'm grateful.

I don't tell her.