And I’ve always said “I don’t have to forgive him, because I
don’t blame him for dying.”
And I don’t. Sure, he
could’ve woken up that morning knowing he was supposed to be in St Anthony, not
St Cloud, and avoided the whole thing.
He could’ve been… whatever… and not sideswiped a semi. But God put that other car in his path, so
God decided that it was his time to go.
And I do trust God, implicitly.
But there is the sticky.
The we-weren’t-married-so’s.
I forgive him for not marrying me… because if he’d known, he
would’ve.
I forgive him for not putting me on his life insurance… because
if he’d known, we would’ve been married.
I forgive him for not knowing about the disaster I was
walking into, because he tried to warn me.
I just didn’t realize how severe it was.
I forgive him for leaving me with the emotional and
practical mess I was in, because I chose to take care of him, I chose to make
him a priority in my life, and I had blind faith that I’d make it through,
somehow.
And I thank God, for getting me through, through the
strength He gave me since the day I was born, the generosity of my parents, and
the love of my friends.
And I thank my Babe, for believing in me, for knowing I was
strong enough to weather the storm, and trusting that I would always do my best
to take of him, and continue to honor his memory. He was a special one, no one can contradict that. I’m honored to have been his last love.
No comments:
Post a Comment