Mourning Becomes Cassandra Read Online Free

sermon my mind wandered frequently, but the general topic was the joy of service. The joy of getting outside oneself. Well, if there was ever a place I’d love to be right now, it was outside myself. But what would I do? No more volunteering in the nursery, like I used to. Besides the germs and diapers, I didn’t want to see any little children who would remind me of Min. And I’m sure all my friends picking up and dropping off kids would rather just “get ʼer done” without having to see me moping about the place.
    For a few minutes, to avoid deep thought, I pictured decorating my new room. I could paint the walls a dark buff. Re-cover the cushion in the window seat for a reading area. Hang that chickadee painting some friends gave me by the book case. Then I planned my first few dinners. Was vegetarian cooking out? Did everyone eat fish or beef? I had forgotten to ask. Then I thought of Great American Novels still waiting to be written. The sermon was still going.
    Defeated, I screwed my eyelids shut. It was almost embarrassing to try to talk to God, since I hadn’t been praying for months. Who wanted to talk to someone you were mad at? Especially if He wouldn’t answer, and nothing could be resolved?
    Arguing with the Almighty was also a fairly new experience for me, dating only from when he let Troy and Min die. Was it too much to ask, that He could have let Troy’s heart fail when he was sitting on the couch at home, with me right next to him to call 9-1-1? Or was it too much to ask that He could have spared Min? Min had spent 90% of her time with me, for Pete’s sake, and one of the few times she’s alone with her dad, they have to be in a car, and his heart has to give out suddenly? Troy’s death I could almost get my mind around—a bad heart is a bad heart, and since he was only 31 we hadn’t known about it. But what was the deal with Min? What part of His Wonderful Plan for My Life did it screw up to leave her on earth?
    I learned in the church’s Grief Recovery class what I already knew intellectually: that it was okay to be angry at God. But it still made me uncomfortable. Maybe my faith had tended too much to the what-a-friend-we-have-in-Jesus side, only to discover that that friend was not averse to letting circumstances stab me in the back. It felt like having the faithful family guard dog, who rescued you from house fires in the past, turn on you and maul you. Bad analogy, I know, to compare God with a dog. Sit, Lord. Stay. Lie Down. Turn water into wine. Fix my every problem. And heaven knows no one has ever gotten God to heel. On the other hand, like an unruly pet, faith could be euthanized when it didn’t meet expectations.
    The atheists and agnostics in my life were trying hard to bite their tongues, but I could read their thoughts: Cass, doesn’t this prove it’s all random, or that, if there is a God, He’s a jerk? Religion’s great if you find it comforting, but in your case, shouldn’t you get off your knees and stop worshiping this figment of your imagination? And on bad days I thought they were probably right, but on other days, most other days, I figured God is God, and He can do whatever He pleases. While I certainly wish He would have asked for my input in this situation, I was willing to believe there were more things going on in heaven and earth than were dreamt of in my philosophy.
    The speaker was talking about some time he made some big faux pas at the homeless shelter, and the people around me chuckled appreciatively. So fine—God was God, and Troy and Min were gone, for whatever reasons. Now what? What on earth was I supposed to do with my life? And was there any way I could get through the rest of it under the radar?
    I had woken up that morning with a faint headache after dreaming about Min: her first birthday, and the terrific face she made when she first tasted frosting. Hey, Minnie was my first baby, so like millions of other first-time moms I was something of a