I keep dreaming that Mama is alive.
In one dream, she sat up from the casket. Calm. Completely unbothered. I walked over and said, "Mama, are you not supposed to be dead?" Already trying to logic it out. Maybe the embalmer made a mistake. Some fixable explanation for why she was still here.
I woke up and the question was already forming.
God, what if her death was the dream?
That's what anger at God during grief looks like sometimes. Not loud. No screaming. Just a question you keep asking. A silence you keep waiting for Him to fill. And the slow realization that you've been too polite about it for too long.
When Papa died 9 months later, I was pregnant with Emman. I had to book another flight home, the same kind of desperate, first-available flight I had booked for Mama. My body already knew what that travel meant. And when I finally got there, neither of them would be there.
That's when the polite version broke. I was angry. I felt abandoned. I looked at my life and hated it. Those are the exact words.
And for a long time I thought that disqualified me from coming to Him.
It doesn't.
A full third of the Psalms are laments. God kept them in the book, unedited, right next to the praise.
"How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?"
That's David. That's Scripture. He can hold both your trust and your fury, your faith and your questions.
You don't have to arrive at peace before you come to Him. You come in the dark, and peace sometimes comes after.
If you're angry at God right now,
you are not doing this wrong.
You are being honest. And He can take it.
The full story is on the blog.
โBeing Angry at God After Losing Both My Parentsโ
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