Nothing was going to bring my virginity back.
The murdered women could not be raised from the dead.
What then did I seek? What could bring justice to any of this?
In my 20s I began to read the bible and search for a God who was a different God than my father had taught me. He considered himself a religious man and was “born again” when I was 8 years old. Of course, it was just a full embellishment of what he was, but that’s for another post.
I opened my bible and read in Ecclesiastes:
And I saw something else under the sun: In the place of judgment-wickedness was there, in the place of justice-wickedness was there.
Ecc 3:16
I pondered the words and meditated on their meaning. It seemed everywhere on earth was violence and injustice instead of fairness and justice.
When my father was dying, my mother called me to tell me hospice was coming in. She wanted me to know I would only have a few hours to find any peace I might be looking for.
I went.
Upon my arrival, I was overcome with an immense love for him but felt alarmed at my reaction. This wasn’t a love that came from my heart. I didn’t really have any form of love left for him. I had learned that the love I had for him as a child was akin to what a prisoner feels towards a warden, an emotional bond developed as a strategy for survival.
He turned and looked at me sadly and said, “What do you want from me?” I’d fucked with him for years, had cops on his tail, announced his wrongs – but, there I was, sitting beside him and all of that was no more. I answered him, “Dad, I’m worried about your soul. I was with you in those rooms. I know what you’ve done.”
My father’s reply was staggering. He said, “You wait a lifetime for a love like that.”
I think in that moment I understood some justice. He’d created a destiny bent on destruction and had taken glory in his shame, but I had found a citizenship in heaven and I was compelled to share it with him.
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