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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