I got a big promotion, made a lot more money,
but hated my job.
You didn’t seem to notice.
You didn’t seem to care.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

I lost a baby, felt so empty,
surprised to fall in love so quickly with something I never expected.
You weren’t there.
You didn’t hold me.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

I got pregnant again, felt so confused,
full of delight, yet full of apprehension.
You didn’t seem to share my feelings.
You didn’t understand them.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

I studied names, brought home books,
wrote out samples, said them aloud.
You didn’t participate.
You didn’t offer suggestions.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

I lost my father, felt so conflicted,
he was so awful, he was so good.
How did I feel? Was I grieving?
You didn’t wonder.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

I smashed the car up, felt so stupid,
just like a cartoon, I kissed a light pole.
You didn’t seem concerned.
You didn’t seem to worry.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

Our son cried all summer, he hated baseball,
couldn’t hit the ball, wouldn’t even try.
You didn’t help him.
You didn’t encourage him.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

He got an A+ on his project, five pages on Leonardo,
surprised the teacher, blew my mind.
You didn’t take a snapshot.
You didn’t even see it.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

His team went to the finals in soccer.
He was so excited in the morning, brokenhearted in the afternoon.
You didn’t come to the game.
You didn’t see his tears.
I guess you couldn’t—you never asked.

Dear God, it hurts to not be asked.
It hurts to not have someone wonder: How are you, what’s happening,
how do you feel, what is important to you? It hurts.

But You, dear God, You ask.
You ask everyday: How are you child? How are you feeling?
Tell me all about it.

I feel You saying: Come to Me, I am always here,
always listening, always strong, always able.
Come, tell Me all about it.