Remember this post? Yeah. For a brief moment, I thought you actually MIGHT exist. And that you might have actually cared.
Explain to me this.
How can you giveth. Then taketh away?
I’m tired. You’re a game player. I don’t do well with games. Especially when the rules are constantly changing…at YOUR whim.
Is it because I didn’t believe hard enough? Because I don’t know how hard I’m supposed to believe. I’m doing the best I can on what limited proof I have to go on.
Is it because I wasn’t grateful enough? Although I really wouldn’t even know how to show my gratitude, aside from becoming more devout.
Which isn’t happenin’
Is it because I didn’t get to go to seder? I was super sick and didn’t want to put others at risk of my horrible virus. I would have assumed that you, of everyone, would know how I love Passover.
Is it because I haven’t been a good twice a year Jew? Well, I don’t like being hypocritical. And if I don’t appreciate the religious aspect of my religion the other 363 days of the year…then why bother?
So by now, I’m sure you’re scratching your bald head or your beard, wondering why it is I’m blaming this MAJOR road block on you. Especially when I am a self-proclaimed non-believer.
Because I can.
Because I don’t know who else to blame this on.
Because I don’t know “the man’s” email address.
Because I, for a split second, believed you might have heard my plea for help.
I believed for a nano-second that you might have actually had a hand in fixing our financial problems.
I really, really wanted. More than anything. To finally believe in you.
And for that instant. I kinda did.
Unfortunately, that didn’t last long.
What did we do?
We are trying. So hard. To make ends meet.
And for a moment, we thought we could breathe.
But then the air was taken away.
It was replaced with a deep ocean…and no way to get our heads above the water.
I’m not writing this letter to you in a whiny tone. I want you to be aware of that. I DON’T whine.
I’m using my matter-of-fact voice in my head as I type this. As I write the words that question what is going on.
I’m done looking for little signs. I don’t see any. I never see any.
I’m done believing that this too shall pass. Because so far…it’s sticking around like L.A smog.
I’m done believing that things get better. I wish they did. But this particular situation…it doesn’t. It never has. The band-aid has peeled off. The stitches didn’t hold the wound together. It’s gaping. And starting to bleed again, slowly. But we know. Without a doubt. The bleeding will get worse.
They’ve been through so much change in their short little lives.
With the divorce.
And moving to so many different houses.
Because this isn’t making me stronger.
This won’t make my children stronger.
The only thing it’s going to make stronger is my lack of faith.
If you hear me. And if you do exist in some form or another.
For my children.
I don’t need a band aid.
Or a life preserver.
I need something permanent.
Something that will stick.
That “the man” can’t change his mind about.
Or claim it to be null and void.
If you do exist.
And you just don’t feel like you want to listen.
Please forward this letter on to someone who does.