Wrecked

An open letter to the woman who almost wrecked my whole world,

I don’t know if you believe in God. Not like a deity that rubbing rocks and getting enlightenment come from. But as in I Am. The Lion of Judah. Jehovah. Yahweh.

If you don’t, you should because He is the only reason you are alive. He spared you, your mama, my brother, and my whole world. You all could be dead. Should be dead. But in Psalms 91, it speaks about this shield God has over his people. Now I don’t know if His shield was over you because you believe or simply because my husband and brother believe and you just got close enough to be protected. Either way, God said He’s not done with you or them. So here we are.

I wanted you to know that I have prayed for you. For your physical healing. For your life to be set straight by this. For this to be a part of your testimony.

As bad as I wanted to be angry with you for almost destroying everything, God softened my heart and reminded me that He loves you just as much as He loves me. That was a hard pill to swallow.

I’m not here to condemn you. I am here to help you understand the could haves of your actions.

I am an artist who paints. So I thought it fitting that I close this letter by painting you a mental picture of what I saw in my mind for days and weeks after this accident.

I am home. Sitting on the floor by the couch. I’m starring at the window just past all the boxes, looking out at our over grown yard. My boys are playing and climbing on me. My oldest who is newly 3, says “mommy, wheres daddy again?” And I hold my breath. Answering him for what feels like the 200th time I say “in heaven with God and Jesus having a party,” he looks at his feet and says “I want to see daddy.” My youngest, our 1.5 year old, hears him mention the heart wrenching word “daddy” and says “daddy’s at work?” I have to summon the strength to respond again. “No baby, daddy had to go bye bye for a really long time.”

I get up and finish packing up the kitchen. The donation box is full while the other is nearly empty. My sweet mother in law is asking me a question but her face is pale and I can’t hear her words. I don’t know how I got here but now I’m on the floor on the kitchen and she is holding me so tight. Ironically the tightness of her hold helps me breathe a little better.