The Boogeyman

Working through some feelings that have surfaced, I was asked why I went to one mans funeral some years back. With child on hip and my shoulder being used as a road for a matchbox car, I approached the church with nothing but fear overtaking my body as the rain drops falls on and around me. I kept telling myself this is one more moment in my life that will make me stronger in time. Entering the church, I climbed the steps to the service. People crying, people talking of grand memories of this man whom has died, not one knowing what this man really was/is. Hesitating to sign the guess book, I decided not to sign, for I was not a guest with love in my mind, but a guest with hatred who needed closing of a chapter in my life, that has caused me to be so callus to what has been done to me and god knows how many others. Scanning the holy room, colors of Black and Red is what I see. I take notice of the final farewells, I walk to the back of the church, debating to walk up to the casket and give my final farewells. In search of my courage, I look at my son, eyes so blue, he always knows what to say, “Mommy I love you.” Tears forming not due to the reason I was brought to at this place, time, or moment, but for my son gave me the strength to make my decision, in this place, in this time, and in this moment. My son and I walk to the casket. I look at the widow, the children, the grand children and I feel the pain of sorrow for the very reason that they lost a family member, but at the same time wondering if they knew what has been done. I look at the cross that hangs above for all to see and pray, I say thank you to Jesus for he has answered my prayers from when I was a small child to preteen. I look at the body that lies in the casket whispering very low to where my son can barley hears me, but Jesus does. “You died of a slow and painful death. You die of Cancer. I can only say that Cancer is my friend and you are the monster. You don’t deserve any of this. You don’t deserve the tears that fall for you. I hate you for what you have done to me. I hate you for making me hate you. I can only hope you felt every pound lost, pain in your bones, skin, lungs, and stomach that Cancer has brought you. That is the very pain you bestowed upon me in force and in fear that my Mom would not love me anymore if I was to tell her. I hate you! I hate the way you made me feel. I hate you. God speed for healing.” A hand rubbing my back, my baby says to me, “Don’t cry Mommy, don’t cry, you are okay now, don’t cry.” Those words could not be any wiser. I turn from the corps that litters the church that I once lost faith in and regain myself and my trust that punishment almost always comes in ones life when deserved; looking up, everyone is a blur and my son and I walk out without another word. Stepping down onto the blacktop where I once played in my school girl’s uniform, looking up, the rain has stopped and the sun was shining and the wind blew in my face. In the distance my son sees a butterfly land on a weed, while we approached the car. So, when asked why I went to my boogeyman’s funeral, I could only answer to the one I love and hold so dear, “I need to love again the right way. So I can breathe again and not feel bad for when you hold me. So, that the scares on my soul and heart don’t match the stain glass in what I need to find. So I can be a better person.” With a pause in between my winded answers, “So I know that there is a God and that my tears and prayers were answered.”