I often find myself talking to my dad. About the big things. About the little things. Random, general chit-chat I may have talked to him about while he was still alive. I ask him for guidance, strength, answers.
I ran the Victoria Half Marathon on October 10. For a large majority of this 21.1km run, I thought of my dad. I pictured him in heaven running with me. I imagined him healthy, smiling and carefree, encouraging me to run faster and farther. I believe this to be true. I believe that he is healthy, smiling and carefree. I believe he was running next to me the day of the marathon, that he crossed that finish line with me. That he shed a tear just as I did when I looked at the time and saw that it was a personal best.
One day, about 6 or 7 months ago, I was struggling with a boy. I was so smitten with this particular guy and he was just ... so troubled. In all fairness, he was dealing with some awful things and just trying to find his footing in life. But I felt so confused. I didn't know what to do. I asked dad. And then all of a sudden ... it was just so clear. I knew the right answer.
The day of dad's funeral, I was sitting in the front pew of the church and I felt this overwhelming, all encompassing warmth. Not heat, exactly. Just, like I was being held from the outside in.
Every time I hear a song, or see something, or read something; every time dad comes to my mind (regularly throughout each and every day) I feel him with me. Perhaps him coming to my mind is his way of letting me know that he's still with me, that he misses me, loves me.
Oh! The title of this post is "God?" ... perhaps I should explain why.
Faith has always been a very personal thing for me. Very intimate and something I don't always speak openly about. I find it easier to talk about relationships and other personal, intimate details about my life than to talk about my relationship with God.
I have struggled for a number of years with my faith. After Reece died I was so angry! But who could I be angry with? Her death wasn't anyone's fault. So I was mad at God. I didn't understand why God would do something like this. So then I questioned my faith. I know this was difficult for dad (and for mum) as they wanted me to able to turn to a strong faith during such a struggle. But I couldn't do it. I asked questions like, "Can there be a heaven if there is no God?"
Who ever would have thought that my father dying would be the trigger necessary to help me start rebuilding my faith? Well ... God, I suppose. And maybe my dad.
