My parents raised me to be a Christian. To be more specific I was raised Protestant (Mom is Episcopalian and Dad was Baptist). When I was a child I went to a Lutheran school through the 8th grade so I have a deep foundation when it comes to my spiritual beliefs. We didn't make church every Sunday but there was the belief in God and yes...the belief that Jesus Christ died for our sins.
I never stopped believing as I got older and went to a public high school. I would occasionally go to church, not as often as I should have been, but at the same time you were not going to have me NOT believe in God and that there was no Jesus Christ.
I had a situation about two or three years ago where I was suffering from anxiety attacks. Unexplained anxiety attacks. Besides continuing to see a therapist I went back to church. I knew that foundation was essential to my psychological and emotional healing. My godson's mother was attending the Brooklyn Tabernacle Church so I started attending services there. The experience was uplifting on the highest degree and I still go there to this day (I attend St. Martins and Bklyn Tab). The combination of time, therapy sessions and church got me back on track. It helped strengthen me spiritually and it prepared me for dad's death.
When I was told last Thursday that dad died I immediately gave it to god. What do I mean by that? By giving it to God I mean the situation. I felt like I had gotten kicked in the stomach but in praying and talking to god I was able to handle it.
Ever since Dad started suffering dementia I prayed for him and more recently I prayed that he not suffer unnecessarily. I also prayed that I not see him suffer and for the most part I did not. He had occasional bouts of dementia and only once did he not recognize me. He never wandered. He had a couple of issues swallowing and he handled that. When he broke his arm he was obviously in a lot of pain and the medication for that pain brought on the dementia. After a few weeks though the doctors changed his medication to Tylenol and the dementia eventually cleared. Long story short....I did not see Dad suffer and I did not see him die. He suffered a heart attack and died promptly. I was en route to the nursing home when he was under cardiac arrest and got to the home after the paramedics took him away. My bus was late due to traffic and weather conditions. Had I been on time I would have seen them working on Dad. I thank God I missed that.
I guess my whole point to this again is that we all have to remember that God runs the show. When he calls you it's time to go. Thankfully he called Dad at age 83 so I had a lot of years to appreciate and enjoy him.
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