God Is Dead

Ed

Breakfast was a trip down memory lane once again. Being alone had its perks but it also had its faults too. You had way too much time to think. And thinking lead to remembering. Remembering lead to self loathing. She'd awakened early that morning. The sky was a very brilliant late September blue. Absolutely breath taking. So clean and fresh. Ed lay in the bed still sleeping heavily. She didn't understand why he was doing that so much lately. It bothered her. She made breakfast. The girls and Ed ravaged their plates as if it were their last meal. She and Ed were about to step into the shower like a million times before and that's when she noticed. Ed apparently didn't know. But how was impossible to tell. But there they were. Bruised hand prints. Abnormally shaped. Very tiny palms. But the fingers were strangely elongated. She knew immediately what they were. A demon's mark. But when? How? She was so confused. "Ed honey, we need to look at those." "Look at what?" I turned him around and gave him my hand mirror.he looked and choked so hard a tear fell down his cheek. He was frightened. And I'd never seen him this way. His stoic nature was a facade though. I knew that from the start. But this time he had real true fear in his expression. His immediate questions were as if he'd read my mind. "When? How?" "I don't know love. I just don't know." We were always so careful to cleanse before a battle, after, and even, if time permitted, during. We kept our house cleansed. The girls would do it in our absence. And rosemary and lavender burned almost always. We prayed as a family unit and individually every night and every morning. In the evening when we'd all gather at supper we'd pray a cleansing prayer and ask God for his utmost protection. Just HOW had this happened? We even anointed each other daily. You see we were far from a normal family. We are sentinels. Humans that Jehovah ordained from the fall of Eden, to be vigilant and watch for satan and battle him on his own turf. A special breed of human. We are allowed to see without the veil over our eyes. We can see the other side. And we can fight it. Nevertheless, the contusions were there. Some so black in the center they appeared to be pools of darkness. And so were his eyes. Peering at me as if it was the last time he would see me. And in a way it was. Two days later, in a hospital just outside of Spokane, he was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, and the onset of Hodgkins Lymphoma. His liver had a tear in it, causing internal bleeding that couldn't be stopped. For two weeks he fought. All the while holding the banner high for his Savior and his family. He made sure we knew what to do next. He provided a painstakingly detailed list of tasks to carry out after his passing. But all that gusto, passion, and love couldn't keep him alive. His passing brought pain. I plummeted into a dark chasm of hopeless despair. I was oblivious to the outside world. My existence shrank down to myself and the immediate air around me.
Cali and Dez, couldn't even get through to me. They desperately tried every day. I was in our home. I woke up and I went to sleep every day. I cooked. I cleaned. I moved and sat. I would drive to and from all the places a mother of two daughters in high school would have to go. Yet none of it was me. It was someone else. Then one day.....Gabriel. In the months of total robotic existence since Ed's transition, I could see Gabriel but failed to hear him. He was silent. His vigil over me after Ed was like I'd never seen him. Gabriel. Trumpet of God. Great Herald. Good news bringer. Seemed even an angel could grieve. But on this day his face did this shifting thing. A smile cracked across his face as if a flood had washed out a great chasm across a desert landscape. Streams of tears rolled over his marble skin. He embraced me. Full on hey-baby-girl-daddy's-home hug. And I broke. My tears became Victoria falls. My body was an earthquake on the San Andreas fault registering 7.5 on the Richter scale. After an immeasurable amount of time (two days I think) I woke up early and cooked breakfast. My eyes hurt. And I relished the pain. It was better, after all, to hurt than to feel nothing. For the first time in months I saw her. Cali. My second born. The one most reluctant to be a part of all this. She could see the truth in a person. Their auras shown to her like a palette of jewels strewn across the span of the earth. Her gift frightened her at first. She didn't understand. But her dad, super hero to her, helped her come to terms with it. And this morning, in the beautiful December sun, she could see me too. All of me. She ran to me nearly throwing us both to the floor with the force of her embrace. Through sobs and a tremble from deep inside her, she said "You're back. Mom I have missed you so much. And you are so beautifully purple today! And green! And shiny silver!" She called excitedly to her sister "Deeezzzziiiiii!" Once again I was nearly knocked to the kitchen floor. Then there we were. Three women. Strong. United. Widowed and fatherless. And laughing at the burning sound and smell of the pancake I'd forgotten on the griddle! Oh my the kitchen was engulfed in smoke and Gabriel appeared and blew it all out for us. Hugging the 2 girls as if they were his. Whispering something in their ears that was to low for me to discern. they hurried out of the room. And came back with a box. It was an ornate thing.  And Gabriel instructed me to finish cooking and we would eat. Then we'd get to the box. I made a very large breakfast. We ate and talked and laughed. God is so good. Ed will never be truly gone. And on Gabriel's word he waits for me.