A Prayer

It goes something like this:

Dear God,

I'm talking to you, but I'm really trying to find Grammy. I'd like to talk to her. I once asked her to find me after she died, just to let me know she was all right. Can you help me find her now? And not in a sign kind of way, in a God exists and heaven is real kind of way. I just want to feel her from wherever she is. Magnolia asked me the other day what happens when we die. My honest-to-God-who-I-hope-is-there answer is: I don't know. I said, "I'm not sure; I haven't died yet. People believe all kinds of things about it, and while I don't really know, I hope there's a heaven where we all get to go." She said, "And if not, it's just like falling asleep for a really long time?" "Yes, it would be like that." She seemed okay with that. I think I am too. Knowing there was something more - a heaven - used to be such an easy story to tell - a happy ending story that could make it all better. Knowing isn't really part of my vocabulary any more, despite still regularly engaging in prayer. I really hope you're there. Thank you for all you've loved me through and all you've blessed me with.

Amen.

••••••••

After Dan died, I read a book, the name of which I can't remember, and it talked about all of the energy that we create and continues on forever in the universe. I was determined to tap into that energy. His energy. It still exists in some form somewhere. Communication through time and space and plane. I'm still working on it. Still wondering what's out there - what's beyond this realm of being. Tonight I am just trying to find my Grammy. Desperately wanting to reach my heart out and feel hers reaching back to mine. 

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