If I had a penny for every time someone has told me to “pray” or “find God” or “leave it in God’s hands” or any variant of that, I would be filthy rich. After Adrian’s death, people have been quick to tell me that I need to pray and get close to God. Because when I admit that you and I are currently not on speaking terms, it is as if I’m confessing that my faith is what failed me. What people hear me say is “my faith is broken and you must fix it”. But all I am really saying is that I am angry with you. I feel abandoned and betrayed by you. If there is such a thing as God’s plan, that is what failed, not religion.
I’ve heard so many times before that in this life, we pay for all of our wrongdoings. So when you took Adrian away from us, who paid for what? He was kind, loving, and a champion for the underdog. He hated injustices and always wanted to do right by everyone. Did he really do anything so awful that he paid for it with his life? Or have I or his family ever wronged anyone so severely that we had to be taught a lesson? Are you really that cruel? After losing Adrian I have learned to hate that stupid cliché saying “everything happens for a reason”. Because no matter how much I try to make sense of it, I cannot find a good enough reason to justify his death. His absence feels wrong and completely unfair.
Someone once said to me that Adrian’s death was a test of faith: “God wants to bring you closer to him.” That has got to be a sick joke. Sure, I didn’t go to church as much as I did when I was a kid. So am I being punished for talking to you at home instead of talking to you in a church? As a child, I loved you so much and talked to you all the time. And I would have never survived my teen years if it wasn’t for our conversations. As an adult I have prayed to you routinely, thanking you every chance I had, faithfully trusting your “plan”. I have been so grateful for each accomplishment and learning opportunity. I have thanked you for my family, friends, and for allowing me to be a part of Adrian’s life. Do you remember my morning prayers on March 27, 2017? I thanked you for another day, and asked you to watch over Adrian and keep him safe at work. And do you remember my prayers that same evening on our way to the ER? I placed all of my fears in your hands. I turned to you – trusted you. You were not there.
No, I’m not ready to talk to you yet. Because the night you took Adrian, my world collapsed. In the ER, I begged you keep him safe. For days afterwards, I mindlessly paced up and down the house searching for him – searching for you. I promised that if you brought him back, I’d be a better person. I cried to you, and bargained with you and I even tried to compromise with you. But you did not answer. WHERE. THE HELL. WERE YOU?
No, I’m not quite ready to talk to you. Because there are people who have experienced tragedy, and despite a crippling loss, their faith remains unbroken. You did not make me one of those people. Although, there is something to be said about the person I am becoming. No, I am not brave, or strong, or fearless. But I am unapologetic in my grief. I am learning to stand up and speak up for myself. I am learning to pick up the pieces of this shattered life, and as sharp as they might be, I am putting those pieces back together, on my own.
No, I’m not ready to talk to you yet. Because the ugly truth about my grief journey is that there is a lot of work to be done. If we are going to repair our relationship, we both need to do some overtime. It will not be as simple as hopping from one church to another, or listening to a catalog of worship songs in hopes that one stands out. It will be more work than that. And I can’t promise that it will be easy. I can’t promise that I will not have doubts. The only thing that I can promise is that I will do the work. But for now, I am not quite ready to talk to you yet.
About Jessica Ayala
Jessica’s life was shattered in March of 2017 when her healthy and athletic husband suddenly and unexpectedly passed away at the age of 44. Jessica became a widow at the age of 36.
Through grieving eyes, Jessica has become aware of the huge disconnect there is between the reality of grief, versus what others believe it should be. This has motivated her to share her story and hopes that by doing so, it may create a “safe space” for someone – anyone who might relate or who shares similar experiences. It took her so long to understand that she was not going crazy in the months after her loss, and hopes that she might help a reader understand the same thing: You are NOT going crazy. This is grief.
My son died in March. He did not deserve to. He relapsed with Leukemia 4 years after fighting through chemo to send it into remission. We were given high hopes of a cure in a Bone Marrow transplant from a young man 100% match. My son was strong and otherwise healthy at the age of 32 so the odds seemed stacked in his favor. The transplant worked well and he was allowed home quite quickly. All was so hopeful and we thought we were on the downward straight. But a virus emerged and he went back to hospital. It went on and on getting worse, culminating in an emergency operation. I saw him last in the ICU only vaguely conscious and looking very uncomfortable full of tubes everywhere. He stabilized but a week later he suddenly went downhill and I could not get there in time to be with him. His fiance and her mother where there though.
He was a lovely trusting positive soul. I am left with a deep mistrust of god and the medical profession and cannot believe that this was destined to happen. Hard enough for me and probably worse for his fiance who was longing for their wedding.
Please be consoled!
I have always allowed people to feel the way they want because, i am NOT walking on their shoes…
This was me when I lost my dear son … It’s well.
Your words describe perfectly what I’ve been wanting to tell everyone when they keep saying pray to god, trust god, god loves you. I am getting sick and tired of hearing those phrases from people who have never lost someone so close as i did. My husband died on February 3, 2019 he was a fighter he survived cystic fibrosis when he got a double lung transplant in 1999. He lived for 19 years after the transplant and died at 43, yet he wanted to live for many more years, he loved life he fought for it ever since he was born. Yet GOD didn’t let him live up until the point where he would feel comfortable to say i am ready I believe he deserve it after all that he went through God should have given him the chance to live until he felt ready. I am not ready to talk to him yet too. Another common phrase I get when people try to comfort is you are so young (i am 30 years old) with so much life ahead of you. Like that means hope, its more years to live without the man that i love, cant they see that.
I despise the “you are young” cliché saying. In my experience, it is almost always followed by “you will find someone else”. People don’t understand how hurtful it is to hear someone else replacing our loved one. People feel a need to fix us, because we make them uncomfortable. And they truly believe that reassuring us that we will find someone is helpful. All they are really doing is trying to reassure themselves that we will some day go back to our “normal” selves. Few people understand that we will NEVER be the same again.
This resonates with me so much. I was so angry with God! I wanted nothing to do with him, but at the same time demanded that he not let go of me, kicking and screaming the whole time.
In the five years since losing my husband, I have been on a journey of rediscovering who God is, because he is not who I thought he was, who I have known him to be all my life. It’s very disorienting. I’m learning to live in the moment, not trying to figure out the past or manipulate the future. It’s all I can reasonably do while I am floating around somewhere out there.
Thank you for your honesty. It’s good to know I’m not alone. 😀
It’s so true- because of my anger, I challenge God to show me he is by my side. Any sign will do. And I too demand that not let me go. It feels like everything I’ve ever known about God will never be the same. But I am hopeful that He and I will find a way to repair our relationship.
You sound like I did, but I did not have the chance for bargaining. He was just gone. Instantly. I felt like God punched me in the face and sent me sailing through the air to land in sharp gravel. And then God and my husband took off for a good old time up in heaven, not caring a bit that they’d abandoned me. I wanted to board up my house and never speak to either of them again. I know how much it can hurt, but if it’s any consolation, God did break through to me. I only say that so maybe you can have a little hope that he will do the same for you… some day. It’s ok not to want to talk to him right now, some of his most faithful (like Job) didn’t want to either.
So very sorry for your loss – I send prayers and thoughts for comfort and healing. My hubby (who passed 2 years ago, suddenly) believed that when we are in heaven, we write a plan for our “trips” to earth, should we chose to come back to earth. The plan we write includes the lessons we want to learn, what we wish to do on earth, and when and how we are going to die. Like you, I have had anger both at my husband for passing away this time (as he had had 2 previous instances where the doctors said he wouldn’t live, but he survived) and to The Great Spirit, for taking such a kind, loving, caring person who gave so much and whom I still needed. I have been working on changing my thought pattern from “Why did you take him away/Why did you go away”, to “Thank you for the 10 1/2 years that TwoFeather and I got to share. Changing my thought process from anger to gratitude is sometimes a difficult process, but it is a work in progress that is ultimately helpful to me. Wishing you peace and comfort.
At first I used to be angry with my husband for leaving me. After many months my anger toward him turned into gratitude for years we had and the home he created for us. I’m grateful to the higher power as well, and hopefull that my anger toward the higher power will eventually turn into something better. Thank you for your kind words.
I lost my husband when I was 49 he was 52. He was healthy, playing soccer..one day he went on a business trip had an aortic dissection and died. I had 2 kids in college, one in high school. I believe that we are here to learn to love him and trust him. God didn’t make this happen..and I believe that he is in a better place. He is the lucky one and some day I will join him. After all I know about heaven why would I not be happy for him and praise God for the gift of eternal life. It is this gift he gave me that let’s me go on.
Thank you for sharing because your experience gives me hope. I am slowly learning to accept that although his place should be still here with us, wherever he is now, is so much better, and beautiful. No matter how much time goes by, he is still my future, because I know we will meet again.
My husband died suddenly and was also active and healthy 14 months ago. I have found peace with his death by reaching the conclusion that; Everyone is born with a number on their head. We do not know the number, but my husband’s number was up on the day he died.
I am so grateful for the time that I had with him. He died a fulfilled man having acheived all of the goals that he set for himself in this life: a beautiful supportive wife, children who grew up to be great citizens , a comfortable home, and his family’s love and respect, How could I be mad at God for allowing me to participate in completing his life.
I was a blessing to him, as he was to me.
I am a much better person, because of him. And I want to leave this world just like him, fulfilled and successful in life. I can not wallow in grief, I must thrive, because I do not know the number on my head.
“We are born with a number”. This has been an important concept for me in healing and handling my anger. I am coming to terms with the thought that my husband’s mission on earth was complete. He didn’t choose to leave me. But I am grateful that he chose me, to share his life with. Thank you for sharing a piece of your journey.