Since Daddy died, it has really shaken up my faith in God. Here’s the thing—I have a hard time seeing the intangibles of God now. Before Daddy died and when I was naïve, I looked for the good outcome of any event. If I, say for instance, got fired on Christmas Eve, I felt in the back of my mind it might be the best thing that ever happened—even through the dramatics and hysteria. Events surely would unfold a path much more fulfilling than the present rut. I was a middle-aged Pollyanna.
Seeing Daddy’s death, I felt that I had run up on an ancient scene of evil. I couldn’t locate the good outcome of what Daddy had done in any part of my mind. It’s been five years now. I still have trouble with the looking.
My husband and I grew very close after the suicide. My mother became an independent thinker. My sister worked toward her own happiness. And I stepped off my soapbox and learned some new things. Time is a changer of things. Surely Daddy didn’t have to kill himself to make change happen. Wouldn’t we have done that anyway?
Even though I don’t actually feel the rose-colored shades of optimism as I once did, I’ll cast my lot with Good rather than Evil. It’s the only way I see of keeping my sanity for the next era of my life. Isn’t that an act of faith?
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