I want my heart to stop beating because I just got the call no mother wants to get. The call that screams your child is gone. He was 42 years old, but he was my baby. The words echo suddenly, “He is gone.” I scream, “No. We spoke just a few hours earlier. Make him come back, Jesus! You can do it. It’s only a few hours. Oh God, turn back time.”
Once a true optimist and strong believer, I find my faith in God shaken to the core. I blame myself, I want to hurt myself, and I want to die. I hold my breath to stop my life, but I keep on breathing. I pound my chest to stop my heart, but it keeps on beating.
How can that be when it is so shattered?
I exist, just exist, like an empty car, misfiring on all cylinders and careening out of control downhill. : I don’t want to live. Yet I wake up every morning with guilt and grief so heavy, why won’t it kill me? Why won’t God let me die?
Why did He save Abraham’s son? Why did he raise Lazarus? Did He love them more than me?
Is this a punishment for my sins, for being bad all my life? Is my son in heaven with Jesus? Will I ever be able to see him again? Does God hear me? Does He even exist?
The questions haunt me. I must search for answers in the junk pile of my life or I cannot go on.