Where to begin……
For the past four months, one week, and one day, I have not been attending Mass. Of course, if you go back those months, that week and one day, you will realize it corresponds with the day that my son took his life. In all honesty, I have avoided Mass to the point that I won’t even go in the church doors. Sadly, I stopped praying. I stopped reading Scripture and study books. I stopped writing in my journal. The whole she-bang.
For the first couple of months, I didn’t attend Mass because, like many, I questioned why God would allow such a thing to happen. Please understand, I do not blame God for what happened to my son as He does bless us (some might swing toward curse) with something we all like to have, but never really consider ourselves to be accountable for: Free Will. Again, I do not blame God for my son taking his life. To some, it may appear as such, but appearances can be deceiving.
Each painful day that passed brought more questions with no answers and still does. People whom I consider friends have been kind. Nobody has questioned my sanity, that I know of 😉 and nobody seems to be critical of my frame of mind. Of course, I’ve almost completely withdrawn myself through the process so I guess I wouldn’t really know. I try to assume the best. My husband has told me people are asking about me at church. I’m not sure what that means, but there you have it. Again, I assume it’s out of concern.
Anywho, as the days keep passing by and I stumble through the healing process keeping myself busy with my new passion, suicide prevention, I feel myself beginning to lean back toward my faith. God is slowly creeping back into my life. I say creeping not in a bad way, but in a way that implies slowly moving back into my life. I find myself……
questioning the circumstances of the last four months…..
questioning life and our existence….
And I have realized that a small part of me misses my relationship with God, but with a little fear etched in there, too. My faith is tugging at my heartstrings, but battling my pride, my confusion, my inability to really trust in God’s plan for my life. I have tried talking to friends, to family, to my husband and I keep getting the same answer, “Shannon, I don’t know the answer to that” or “Shannon, I ask the same questions, have the same doubts, but still I trust in God’s plan” or “Shannon, I can’t tell you those answers, but I do know that God loves you and loves Darren.” And of course, those answers only bring a whole new set of questions that nobody has the answers to.
Yet, my heart is still broken and my mind is still confused. How can I have faith in something and not really know or understand what it is? As I said earlier, I don’t blame God for what happened to my son, but I question Him. Why would He (the one who can perform miracles) choose not to perform a miracle in my son’s life? Through Mass, we are taught to anticipate the glory of heaven. It’s the place we all hope to get to when our time on earth ends. I often hear that Darren is way better where he is than here where he was. His pain is over. He is no longer suffering heartbreak or anything else. I should be happy that he is in a better place. But am I? Am I happier, I question? Yes, some of me is, but some of me is still being selfish and wanting him here with me.
Story to be continued, but I will leave you with this:
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. ~ John 3:16
Knowing how painful it’s been for me losing my son, why would God do that?