Death is Not the End, Daddy

by Nate Allen

You are all that I have. You are the Creator. I want to love you like I once did, like when I was a little boy, and nothing could pull me away from You. But, I don’t know how to get back there. Even though You didn’t give me that dream, it was like You watched as I was torn to pieces, instead of stepping in the way. What if You just watch as I’m torn to pieces again?”

  There’s this sadness washing over me. I can’t explain exactly how it feels. It’s a little bit like how I feel after I hurt Janet, after I see that sadness stick to her face, and brim in her eyes. But, it’s still different. It’s a sadness that I feel deep inside me, yet it’s still sitting next to me. A living sadness, strong enough to almost have a solid form. I have never felt anything close to this. But, somehow it’s familiar. Even though I have never felt it, I know it. I know the presence within it.

  “Jesus?” my eyes are still closed. “My words hurt you, didn’t they? I’m sorry. I’m just scared. To trust You with everything, means to give You everything. I don’t even know how to. I haven’t in so long, that it’s completely foreign to me. I know Your Word. I know Your presence. You’re my Best Friend, but I have never trusted You like I used to. Not since dad died. But, this is the day that I give it all to you. Please forgive me for anything You see in my heart as sin. Wash me in Your Blood. And cleanse me in my soul. Jesus, give me strength, because facing this reality alone will kill me.”

  I open my eyes. The sadness is gone, as if it was never actually here. The sky is a purplish pink splatter of color that is starting to disappear behind the line of trees a few blocks ahead. I take a deep breath, put the Escape into drive, and pull away from the park.

  John Doe

  I finally understand what hurt means. It’s the process of a body being taken apart piece by piece and put back together again. Even though the pain is burrowing further into me, the clean feeling is undeniable. I am still sobbing. My hands have become tight and contorted. My whole body is a continuous tremor that has left me flat on my back. I haven’t tried to open my eyes. I don’t want to. My entire life is a sickness that I have spread to countless others.

  But, there was a beginning to me, a time before the sickness. I had a reason for being, even a purpose. It was something small: I was simply the only child to Charles and Anna. But I mattered. I made them smile. I brought joy.

  Since Teddy, I have only caused pain.

  This sickness didn’t start with you, John. It was passed down to you from your father, who was given it by his. I recognize the warmth attached to those words immediately. It’s Jesus. This sickness is a curse that destroyed your father, but not before grabbing hold of you.

  “Does it matter that dad passed it down to me?!” I’m screaming. My body is still stuck in a tremor. “I still listened to Teddy! I still did all of those terrible things to children! Why do you care about me?! I am worthless! I only cause pain!” whatever fight I had before knowing this truth, feels like it’s gone from me.

  Open your eyes, John. a quiet command.

  They stay closed. I open my mouth to say—I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything I was going to say.

  Open your eyes, John. this time the voice fills every part of me, like wind passing through my core.

  They open automatically. I’m lying on my back. The sky above me is filled with colors I can’t describe, colors I have never seen.

  “My sweet boy,” I look to my right. Mom is lying next to me. Her smile makes me do the same. “My sweet John.”

  “I wish I still was your sweet boy.” I whisper.

  “You still are.”

  “No.” I look away from her. “You don’t understand what I’ve done—what I’ve become.”

  “It doesn’t matter, John.” her hand tips my face back toward hers. “Jesus loves you. It doesn’t matter what you have done.”

  “That can’t be true.” I can feel sickness pushing up from deep inside me. “Not after what I have done. Not after the pain I have caused. He can’t. No one can.”

  “Let me show you something.” she sits up from lying down. I watch as she stands without struggle. I remember when she was so sick that she could barely stand on her own. But here, she isn’t in any pain. She offers me her hand with that same smile on her face. It’s an ageless smile, where all the pain she went through with her sickness doesn’t even seem to register. I grab her hand, and she pulls me to a stand.

  We are standing at the top of a high hill. Out before us is the endless city. It stretches from where my eyes can’t see, both ways. It looks like it’s built into the mountains far toward the horizon. Built into them, but still separate. The valleys below are lush with life. The streams intersect with many others. Some flow directly toward the city, others branch away from it. The water is so clear it reflects the sky.

  “Pain is only for a time, my sweet boy.” she says as she takes a seat on the bench behind us. “Sit with me, and watch.”

  I sit next to her. “I see it, mom. It’s beautiful. But, I will never be here with you. Not permanently.”

  “You can always be forgiven, John.” she says with an assurance I have never heard before. “You are never too lost.” she grabs hold of my hand. “Now watch.”

  She points to the left of us. There are trees that tower over us. The tree closest to us is deep auburn and stretches very high into the air. Every part of it is thick. There are small houses built into the branches.

  “What are you showing me, mom?” I ask.

  “What you see isn’t a series of homes. It’s a tree house, where any of the children can come and play whenever they want.”

  “Why show it to me?”

  “That’s where they are.”

  “They?” Suddenly, all of the children I killed are standing in front of me.

  “You can always be forgiven, John.” Thomas says as he steps out from among the rest of the children. How can he look at me and say that so simply? And how can the rest of them just smile at me, like I’ve done nothing wrong? What I did was disgust—

  Mom’s free hand tilts my face back toward hers. “You are never too lost, my beautiful boy. I’ll see you again soon.”

  My eyes open. I’m not with her anymore. I’m lying on my back next to the car, staring into a sky where the sun has almost set. I am aware of the reality. I am aware that dad killed himself, and that everything that came after has been a lie Teddy had me believe. That isn’t what I am thinking about, though. I’m thinking about what I was told by mom—by Thomas: you can always be forgiven, John. I didn’t think I would ever believe it, but somehow I do.

  Matthew Mills

  I’m in the entryway, taking off my shoes. The lights are on in the kitchen, but I don’t hear Janet. I step quietly up the stairs. After about five steps, I can see up into the living room. Janet has set up a painting studio in the clearing. She is sitting on one of the chairs from the dining room table, and dabbing a thick brush on a pallet.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.” I say before reaching the top step. She turns toward me, but not all the way. It’s just enough to show that I have her attention. “I know where you would be had Jesus not visited you. It was cruel of me to say. And you were right. I have turned to Marcy instead of Jesus.”

  “It’s not about me being right, Matthew.” she whispers.

  I step into the living room, and over to her. “I know, but you were—you are. You read me too well. You read me today, when I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to think that Marcy had become an idol in my heart. And when you said that she had, I wanted to hurt you, because it hurt me.” I pause as I kneel down and grab her hands. Her eyes make shapes of curiosity, but she doesn’t reply with words. “But, that isn’t an excuse. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for my jealousy, my hostility, and my unforgiving heart toward you. Will you please forgive me?”

  “Yes.” she says softly. And then she becomes quiet, as if weighed down by something heavy. “I know I hurt you, Matty, probably countless times since the miscarriag
e. I lashed out at you when you were just trying to be loving. And I’m very sorry.” her eyes are wet. “Will you forgive me, Matty?”

  I can only nod my head. I didn’t expect her to apologize. And now that she has, a clog has settled in my throat.

  “Can you promise me something?” she breaks the silence.

  I can’t speak. It hurts to even try. I just look at her, with eyes that try to express what I can’t say: what?

  “Promise me you aren’t going to leave again.”

  “I-I promise.” I can barely hear it slip out of me. I don’t know how she hears it. But, she does. And it makes her smile.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” she pauses. “I don’t know what Jesus’ words meant, and I miss our little M as much as you do, sweetheart. But somehow, in a way I can’t describe or explain, I know everything is going to be okay. When Jesus said those words to me, He didn’t just plant an idea in me, but a promise. And despite all of the sadness I feel about losing our M, the promise is stronger. So much stronger. It’s like those words have been etched into my heart. I don’t know if they’ll fade as the days pass. I don’t know anything but those words, Matty. When we lost our first baby, you told me that times come in our life where we only have faith… where everything else is enemy to it. I can’t stand to see you falling away. I—”

  “I was.” I interrupt. The clog in my