Handsome in his black suit, the Johnny Cash look he called it.
He looks nice, peaceful. Yes, I say. I nod. I smile. I return hugs.
What else to say? You broke my heart. You crushed my spirit.
So many questions over the years-some silent, some spoken, some screamed.
Sometimes I wanted answers. Sometimes I didnít.
Sometimes there were no answers to soothe my heart.
In the darkness, I wept, asking myself was it me?
Did I do something wrong? Did I do enough?
The silence mocked me, taunting with unanswered questions.
Driving me to prayer, to my Fatherís love and comfort.
You Ė you chose alcohol, drugs, abandoning your faith
Only to be driven back again in your need, your agony.
Times when your faith soared and my hope soared.
Then the silences speaking loudly of your relapse.
In your downward spiral, anger and violence
Corrupted, corroded, exploded, savagely ravaging.
You blamed, you pointed fingers, you lashed out, you accused.
It was everyone elseís fault Ė your repulsive, abhorrent behavior.
Becoming someone I did not know, I did not like.
But my love for you would not die.
It lay bleeding, wounded, suffering an agony worse than death.
As you drove everyone away who loved you, who cared.
Your children grew distant, hurt and disappointed too often.
My love for them could not compensate, or replace a fatherís love.
In anguish, Iíd had enough Ė let me be, no more, please, no more.
I found respite in my Fatherís embrace.
He Who had always been enough, was enough now.
He took my anguished whys and healed.
Balm of Gilead, Rose of Sharon, Lion of Judah.
In the end, you found peace in Him, reconciliation, restoration.
Perhaps in mercy, God took you home.
Little boys grow up, sons become men.
Now I, along with your your father, your sisters, your son, your daughter
Nod as the mourners walk by, acknowledging condolences.
Death restored peace to your tormented countenance.
Your struggles with the demon of addiction have ended.
In my heart, youíll always be my little boy.
My love did not get buried with you.
For a motherís love never dies.
*Fiction based on fact-dedicated to someone I love, and to all parents who struggle with this.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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