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I no longer believed in God’s will. I had stomached the refrain throughout my youth as an explanation for the bullying and general lack of compassion I had endured,
If this is God’s will, then I’m asking you to intervene and for once show me why I am supposed to believe that all of this is for a reason.
The prayers flickering here were not going to be answered. Licking my thumb and index finger, I reached inside one of the bloodred glass jars and pinched out the flame.
“Your father worked so hard all his life, and for what? He’s going to end up here? It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” It truly did, and that was as close as I’d ever come to hearing my mother question her faith.
“I gave away a part of me in my youth, Sam. I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s a part I can’t get back. It’s a part that you deserve.”