- a letter to god
- August 4th, 2005
When my father shot himself, the news team outside muted their cameras.
Why do I have to type that sentence? I never asked for any of this; not the shaking as I type, the tears I'm about to shed, the horrible empty feeling I have in the pit my stomach that tells me I will NEVER see my father, hear his voice, even touch him ever again.
I want my daddy back.
That's all I ask; just let me wake up tomorrow and none of the last nine years have happened.
This is why I don't believe in you anymore; this is why I refuse to go to church, why I cannot believe the stories abot your love and your grace. You were supposed to protect your flock-- I prayed, I went to church, I believed-- and you fucked me over June 6, 1996. You took away my father-- my best friend, the man who taught me Russian, how to play chess, watched the Simpsons with me-- and then, after that, I had to accept the fact that my father would burn in hell for all eternity-- not because he murdered, or raped, or stole-- but becuase he simply believed in something besides you.
Do you know how I cried that day? I couldn't breathe becuase of my tears; I sobbed for hours, while my mother and stepfather tried to lie to me again and tell me, in the end, this was part of your plan, and I would be happy one day.
What about my plan? It never included this.
I have no father anymore.
My belief in you died the second my father pulled that trigger, the second those newsanchors outside my childhood home signaled their cameramen to mute the sound.