Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Anniversary (04/11/05)
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TITLE: Dad, Matt and 09/11 | Previous Challenge Entry
By Elmari Viljoen
04/14/05 -
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I am so confused about Matt. I was so angry with Mom (and him) when she married him. I mean how could she? So soon.
And now, I’m not so sure. I know, he can never replace Dad, but maybe I was a bit hard on him…
He gave me white roses for my birthday. Sixteen of them. I tried hard not to show him how I felt, but the truth is I almost cried! It made me feel so special and grownup. Something I haven’t felt since Dad was still alive.
The card said:” To remind you how God sees you: Pure and beautiful”
I’m not so sure that God would really say a thing like that. I mean isn’t He more concerned about wars and disasters and preserving lives (or not) than about telling a non-significant sixteen-year-old girl that she’s beautiful?
But still, it was thoughtful of Matt.
* * *
Dear Diary 11 September 2002
Today Dad has been gone for 1 whole year.
For weeks I’ve wondered how this day would affect me, and still I was not quite prepared for it.
Most of the day was filled with memories and nostalgia that settled like a dense fog over everything normal and familiar, the kind that leaves you dry-eyed, breathless and tired (not quite like the storm of tears and showers of rage that left us wet and miserable 365 days ago).
The shared grief was everywhere. On the news, in the streets, plastered on every face I saw. It seemed as if the world was mourning Dad and every other person who was so unfortunate to be in the World Trade Center on that dreadful day.
This evening Matt took us to a memorial service at his church. I’m sure it was only out of respect for what happened to Dad that Mom went. You know she never sets foot in church. I didn’t care either way, but went along as part of my newly found ‘let’s-give-Matt-a-chance-campaign’.
I was surprised at what I saw there… I guess I expected a bunch of crazy religious extremists (maybe not so different from the people who piloted that ill-fated plane?) or else a group of overly friendly old people with thick black Bibles under their arms.
I found neither.
In fact there were many young people, even some from my school. The older people I saw were friendly, but composed, and as I watched closely I saw that the joyful exchanges (which, now that I think of it, can be compared to a family reunion) were meaningful and genuine.
The message, which was quietly respectful and marked with words of love and forgiveness, obviously came from the preacher’s heart. But what touched me, no, what shook me, was how the preacher kept referring to God as a Father. Surely it couldn’t be! An Almighty Creator who wants to be known as a Dad?
Suddenly I was drawn back to the incredible loss of my own father. With tears I remembered how Dad could make me feel as if I was the only person alive. ”Gimme a smile, Princess!” he would say with a twinkle in his eyes (that, of course, said more than words ever could). In one of those moments I couldn’t care less if the world fell apart around me; I just knew that if he stayed with me, I would be safe.
Awkwardly I tried to picture God in the same way and although nothing spectacular happened, it suddenly made sense to me. Like the last piece of a puzzle that fits in its space, no matter how unfitting it may seem. And then at that moment Matt caught my glance and gave me a reassuring smile as if he knew exactly what was going on in my mind.
I don’t think I’ll ever feel the pain of losing my Dad diminish, but just then I did feel something else start to grow in its place. Hope? Maybe even enough hope to trust again.
Maybe the anniversary of Dad’s death is the perfect time
for me
to give my new Father a smile.
* * *
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