In March of 2004, my dad died.
In November of 2005, I found out about it.
So, here I am, in the middle of the night, wondering about it.
Why didn’t anyone in my family tell me?Was I not worth knowing?
And why am I up thinking about it?
Well, before I believed in Jesus, I believed in the Easter Bunny, so there are traditions I’ve carried on with my kids that leave me awake in the middle of the night doing “Easter” stuff, and as I was back in bed, ready to fall asleep, I thought about calling family for Easter and then wondered,
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
The real kicker is…God’s already TOLD me why, but there’s still a part of me that wonders why.
My father drank himself to death, and after my anger at God for not letting me find out wore off enough for me to hear Him, God told me that if I’d found out at the time of my father’s death, I would’ve drank myself to death as well, which makes sense, so why am I wondering about it tonight?
I guess some questions are better left unanswered and some wonderment is better left to wonder.
But it still hurts a little.
At the time I found out, I was more focused on staying sober and not really devoted to finding out why no one told me or how many family members knew.
I hope I never find out.