The Conditions of Will

by Jessa Hastings

“And I don’t think they’re not letting your mom into heaven because she didn’t believe in the God that modern Christianity claims to represent. I think he’s good.” I shrug. “And I think he loves everyone, and he wants everyone to be okay, and I think almost everyone who is, like, earnestly seeking God—people aren’t seeking that out of ego; they’re looking for the meaning of life and they’re looking beyond themselves for it—and, I mean, I don’t know anything, except that I think God is the kind of guy who when someone dies, he’ll sit there and sift through every heartfelt thought, every drunken prayer, every desperate plea for help,

I don’t think you just stop loving someone once they’re suddenly gone. I think that’s what makes it hard.

A surge of anger pulses through me as I panic she’ll fuck it up and make God sound weird or judgmental…make him sound like he’s the pricky God America might have you believe him to be.

I don’t like lies. The truth is the most powerful thing in the world to me, and I take it personally whenever someone stands in the way of it being known.

The nicest thing you can ever do for another human being is see them, and really see them, at that. To be understood is one of most base desires we as people have, and it was one that Oliver wasn’t only deprived of, but often quite deliberately denied. All our lives he wanted our dad to see him and to care what he saw, and I think just now my brother got a glimpse that our dad did.