“I hate you,” the words seething through my mouth like molten lava. The same words I’d later regret.
Tears streamed down her face as anguish grasped her heart. My nostrils flared and I grinded my teeth continuing with my bantering rage.
I stared with such hatred that would even have caused the devil himself to tremble with fear. “It’s not like you’re my real mother, anyways.”
Her face revealed only tear stains but I could hear her heart as if almost shattering into a thousand pieces. I had broken my mother’s heart.
Although in truth she wasn’t my biological mother, she was my adoptive mother. She’d
always said that I’d grown in heart rather than her tummy.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Rachel,” my mother tearfully whispered. “But that will never change how much I love you.”
My heart longed to tell her how sorry I was and how much I loved her but my mouth refused to speak. Instead of speaking I simply walked away and never bothering to glance back.
I slammed my bedroom door loud enough to inform the world I was angry. For a moment my anger dissipated as I gazed out the window to see a sky painted with pinks, purples and paisley oranges. Certainly this was God’s crowing glory of creation.
My mother had always taught me to never let the sun set on my anger. I wanted time to relax and reflect upon the situation itself. I closed my window blinds and then I closed my eyes settling in for a night closed off from the rest of the world.
Then next morning I was awaken from a painfully deep sleep by loud pounding on the front door. Groggily I pulled myself from my dreams and pitied my way downstairs.“Yes, may I help you?”
“Are you Rachel Wesley,” a burly man inquired. “I’m Office Tom Fenthwick.”
“Yes, I am,” I slowly whispered. “Why do you ask?”
The officer continued, “I am sorry but there’s been an accident your mother…..”
“That’s not possible,” I panicked. “My mother was home last night.” My worst fears were confirmed when I glanced toward the garage and my mother’s missing car.
“No….no…that can’t….be… right,” I choked.
“Why don’t you come with me, miss,” the Office insisted. “I’ll answer your questions on the way to the station.”
I shook my head panicking in fear. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t right…maybe the police had identified the wrong woman…but my mother just couldn’t….be dead. God it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Tears quenched my soul until I could know longer stand. Gently I was embraced by the policeman’s strong, burly arms as I was carried to the cruiser.
“I know, I am sorry,” he whispered his voice offering overwhelming comfort.
For hours I sat staring at a blank and whitewashed wall aware of nothing in the world around me. The police said that my mother never suffered that she died instantly. They said she had beautiful expression upon her face.
Was I supposed to pity the dead, the living or the lost? Was I supposed to cry in rage and scream in anger? Was I supposed to blame God or blame myself?
“Hello Rachel,” a quiet voice interrupted my thoughts.
I cried, “Grandma. It’s horrible, she can’t really be gone.”
She held me close to her heart. “I know…. I just wish there was more that I could do.”
“It’s my entire fault. It’s my fault she’s dead,” I gasped for breath. “I told her that I hated her and that she wasn’t my mother. I never told her how sorry I was and now I never will.”
“Come with me,” my grandma whispered.
An hour later we arrived at a small deserted cemetery on the outskirts of town. She led me to a gravestone that read: Michael Wesley Beloved Brother and Son 1965-1987.
“My son and I had an argument before he died,” grandma whispered. “I have had the chance to tell him how sorry I was or how much I loved him.”
“Never let the sun set on your anger,” I cried. Grandma nodded in agreement. I pointed toward the nighttime sky painted with pinks, purples and oranges. We stood awed by
the beauty of God’s crowning glory. Indeed never let the sun set on your anger.
“In your anger do not sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.”-Ephesians 4:26-27
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