My father is an angel among the angels. A romantic notion I know. I fought for years to reconcile my feelings about his death. I raged at God. I raged at my father. I raged at my mother. Hell, I was screaming at anyone who crossed my path or would listen. I questioned God's love and my father's love. My anger boiled over in tantrum. How could they take themselves away from me and my brothers and sisters? How could they leave my mother alone to raise five children? How could they leave me alone in this world?
Then one day another angel helped me see. Fact. My father died. The rest? I created. I made it up. I made his death mean: I was alone, that God wasn't there for me, that my father didn't love me. I chose to give life to these untruths, living as if they were true. Tears flowed long and hard when I realized the years I had spent judging and blaming God, my father, and the world; because of a story I had created. I ask forgiveness of everyone my anger flowed over.
I know today that God and my father, love me and watch over me.