The framework that I had built my life around is now gone. Cracks to the foundation caused the structure to fall away completely.

I’m left sifting through the pile of discarded beliefs, trying desperately to hold on to just this one:

There’s life after this one.

I want to believe this. I have to believe this. But learning that everything else I thought was true is not has shaken the very foundation of all that I believe. It’s not just about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon. It’s about God and Jesus Christ and all that I had once used to cushion myself against the harsh realities of this life.

The framework for my own happiness. The belief that I was not robbed in this life because I’d have my father or the baby that I had lost in the life after this. If there’s not that, then there is a sadness I am not yet equipped to deal with.

My father. Seventeen years later and only remnants of him remain buried someplace almost too far for me to get to anymore. The empty spaces that his memories once occupied are now painful, gaping wounds. I cannot help but worry that if there is a life after this one, that he’s not standing on the other side pissed as hell at the choices I have made. The pile of beliefs I find myself sifting through.

 

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