The grief is rising like flood waters. It is threatening to engulf me. I look for my son everywhere. There is no safe place.
I am watching others. They are in their own stream of pain and sorrow. I see brave faces and stoicism and tears. This world is such a scary place, I’m not sure why we cling to it so hard.
How did this happen?
I’ve been seeing posts of practical jokes. They always involve the element of surprise. It requires the victim to be caught off guard. Some of them seem pretty cruel and dangerous. None of them seem practical and I’m not always sure the victim appreciates the joke. Life dishes out its own surprises that bring along potential devastation. I really don’t want there to be any more victims.
Everyone has their own take on it. People want to explain why things are the way they are. They reference their beliefs and things they call their “faith.” It makes no sense. There are major contradictions that begin to make their idea of a deity seem cruel. I find no comfort in their words.
The strange fact is that I talk to God all the time. Sometimes it is just “oh God,” gasped out with a lot of tears to follow.
I believed in God from childhood. I wanted God to be. I prayed a lot. I talked to Him in every circumstance and felt His eyes were on me. I so wanted to have Him answer a few things, but I figured if He didn’t it was because He is God and I am not.
I have come to realize that the things people say who claim to be believers in God are really words to self sooth. I accept that they are said with good intentions. But they are not God. And since I have come to the stark recognition of the fact that I know so little about Him, I assume they are in the same boat. Best guess – the very best. It it gets them through the night, so be it.
I really do want God to exist, and not the God I was taught as a child. He was scary, fickle and vindictive. He played with matches. He held you to a bunch of rules and just waited for you to cross the line. He was the embodiment of my most feared parent, and he loved conditionally.
I don’t like what people have done with letters written by believers, turning them into a bound volume that has become an idol. As if a leather binding could hold God, if there is a god.
I am so grieved that the death of my son could take a sledge hammer to my faith. I had so carefully constructed it. Which points out the main problem.
I’ve been sitting at ground zero now for 20 months without much forward progress.
Before I often explored outside my comfort zone, but that zone has been demolished. It is in shreds and I sit in the smoking crater.
Had my son been a man of faith, professing to embrace the things I had been taught all my life, perhaps I could still . . . no. No, it doesn’t add up. It makes no sense. He had so much he should still be doing.
Gravity. That is one of the only things about this that I understand. It is a force I can see the effects of on a daily basis and it is gravity that claimed him. It is gravity that keeps me from drifting off into space and it is gravity that pulls my tears down my face.
If you believe God created everything then God made gravity with all its consequences and benefits.
And the human body is frail and subject to failure, and if it is not gravity it is illness or aggression or carelessness or purely being in the wrong place at the wrong time. So we will all die.
I envy my dog’s lack of introspection.
I’m here for the duration, hoping -oh so hoping that God is nothing like anything man has constructed – the god made in man’s own image.
Oh here go the tears again, because I have to make a confession.
Even if God is just like the tradition I have grown up in says He is – I love Him anyway. I loved Him before I grew up and married, before I had a child. And when that first child was born and then the next I thanked Him. I thanked Him every day.
I really believe in Love.
I just really miss my son.