I did not grow up in a home where we went to church on Sundays. Other than my grandma taking me from time to time as a child, I knew very little of God. For some reason, which I can not recall, I started praying every night when I was a child. No one taught me. My brothers and sisters didn’t pray that I know of. I was never taught to do this. I just did. I talked to him like I would talk to a friend. I told him about my day and always asked him to watch over my family. I talked to family members who had passed. Thanked God for my health. If I was upset about something, I always prayed about it. When I was pregnant, I asked that he watched over Nash and I. The same after he was born. I also endlessly thanked him for how blessed I was. My friend Shawn is by far the person I talk religion with the most. She grew up going to church and has a close relationship with God. She would get so mad at me if we discussed something the bible said that I didn’t agree with. I would say “my god” wouldn’t do that. She would get so frustrated and tell me that I can’t make up my own rules. I didn’t care. I did anyways. It’s like when people talk to me about gay people not being able to go to heaven. I would say “my god” would allow them in and love them, and if he didn’t then it’s not some place I want to go anyway.
When Nash died, people would say to me, “You must hate God!” I didn’t. I’ve always hated when something awful happens and people immediately blame Him. Like the Sandy Hook shooting. I would hear people say, “Where was God? How could he let something so horrific like this happen?” It’s so easy to blame Him for these things. How many people thank Him for all the good things in their life? It seems to me that the people who are mad when something bad happens are the ones who never thank Him when something good happens. Hate god…that never even crossed my mind. “My god” wouldn’t do this. It did, however, change my mind about the things I feel he has control of. If I pray for a friend’s mom that has cancer, I no longer think he can heal her. I prayed for my dad when he had cancer and it didn’t heal him. Todd used to drive trucks and I prayed he would be safe, but I no longer feel like that’s in God’s hands. I truly feel He had no choice with Nash’s passing. It was his time. It sucks and I’m not happy about it, but I don’t think God had any control over it. I don’t think He would intentionally take him from me. This new way of thinking scares me. Being pregnant now, I don’t feel that sense of protection from Him. What is meant to be will be. As a parent, it’s scary to feel that he can’t protect you or your family. That we all have our time and when it’s up it’s up. I remember praying to God on the way to the hospital. Sobbing, saying over and over again, “Please God let him be okay!” I knew in my heart even as I said those words that he was not going to be okay. I will never understand. I will never be okay with it. There will never be a reason that is good enough to explain it.
In the past, I was always sure of Heaven and God. Now when I talk about Heaven, I say “if there is a heaven” or “if Nash is in heaven.” It has definitely caused me to question my faith. How could it not? Not because I think God is cruel and did something horrible to me, but because of the reality of the situation. When you lose your child, you become a realist. The unthinkable has happened. You can do everything right. You can be the best parent in the world and still your baby can die. You look at the world differently. You see how fragile everything is. You no longer feel naiveness about anything. When something happens that people say is a sign, you now think as a realist and consider it a coincidence. Believe me, I don’t want to feel this way. I want to see things as a sign, but I don’t. Heaven and God seem very delusional now. I fight hard to believe when it used to come naturally. I want to believe I will see Nash again. I want to believe he is watching over us. I cling to that with the last bit of faith that I have. I don’t understand how people get through something like this without having some sort of hope. If I choose to hate God or believe he is not real, that means Nash is just dead. His spirit is gone and I will never see him again. I don’t want to believe that. I cling to the hope that there is a heaven and I will see him again. I have to almost talk myself into this now. I think about the day I die and how wonderful it will be to hold him again. That alone would make Heaven the most beautiful place. I want nothing else.
What if our time on Earth is predetermined? What if God had told me beforehand that this was going to happen? What if he said, “I have the most beautiful and loving little boy for you. You will love him more than you have ever loved anything or anyone. However, he will only live to be five months old.” If he would have given me the choice to have him or not, I know I would have said yes without hesitation. The hard part about his death is that we did not know that was his fate. Planning his future in our heads. Thinking of the times you will share together and then being told no, you don’t get that. If I think about it the other way I feel better. I tell myself I would have chosen this had I known. I would have been his mommy regardless of how short our story was together. I still pray and only talk to Nash. I can’t bring myself to talk to God or even my dad for that matter. It seems empty like no one is on the other side listening. I no longer feel comfortable asking God for things I once did. My relationship with him is different. I no longer feel like he has control of my life and what happens to it. Now when I lay down at night to pray, I talk only to Nash. Instead of talking to God like I used to……….I pray that there is a God.