I alternate between loving God for placing you on this earth in the first place, for giving me the opportunity to get to know you, to become close with you, to love you — and hating Him for ripping you away from this earth so early, for not giving you the chance to grow older, for giving me a heartbreak that I will never recover from no matter how much time passes.
My family tries to comfort me by convincing me that you are in a better place now, that you are in heaven looking down on me, that you wouldn’t want me to be sad because you are safe with Him now.
Everyone acts like I should calmly accept your death. Like it would be selfish of me to wish you were still here. Like it would be sacrilegious of me to question why you had to be taken away from us so early.
Maybe this makes me a bad person, but I am questioning His decision to steal you away. I am questioning why He decided to choose you of all people when there are so many criminals free to walk the streets in perfect health. I am questioning why this had to happen. I am questioning whether it had to happen. Whether He made it happen or whether the universe is completely random, erratic, unfair.
Because of your death, my faith has wavered — and even though some people would fault me for making such a statement, I do not consider it a bad thing.
If God exists (in any shape or form), if He is looking down and watching right this moment, I think he would be proud of me for having my own opinions. For having my own emotions. After all, that is what he created. Humans who are able to grow angry and bitter and confused. Humans who are able to feel.
Even though I believe in something bigger than myself, although I’m not exactly sure what, I am not going to feel bad about thinking you are in a better place is a stupid thing to say. You had problems just like everybody else, but you were happy here. You could have had a future here.
I have never considered myself a greedy person, a jealous person, but I am sick to my stomach at the notion that He has you in his grasp while I am unable to speak to you, to hug you, to tell you once more how much I love you. It just doesn’t seem fair. It just doesn’t make sense.
I want to trust in God. I want to believe He is always going to be there for me, protecting me, making sure I am okay — but sometimes I have doubts. Sometimes they only last for a second before I push them away. Sometimes they last a little longer.
I want to trust God — I am trying my absolute hardest to continue trusting God — but sometimes it’s hard for me.