I Didn't Believe in God
When I was younger, I remember, I didn’t believe in God.
I remember repeating what my father had once told me in a rare moment of genuine sharing. My cousin died and my Dad sat alone on the swing in our backyard. I had never seen him not engaged in some activity, whether it was chopping wood, or raking leaves, or digging a ditch. He was always working. On this day he was on the swing, not swinging just sitting. I was young, but not too young. My mother had just approached me as I walked in the house, and told me my cousin had been in a fatal accident. Unable to understand, I asked if he was ok, and she said, no, he died. I walked through the garage into the green shady vast green expanse of the back yard and saw my father. I walked up to him, he was crying.