More Than A Conqueror
“ Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal: my strength lies solely in my tenacity.”-unknown author.
It was April 21, 2003 when I lost my best friend. The walls were off white, the carpet was gray with navy blue spots, and the room was cold. The words, “I’m sorry, but we did everything we could,” were the words I had never wanted to hear. Not only did my grandmother die that day, a piece of me died with her. As I laid on the marble floor, I cried. My eyes began to burn, snot ran down my face, and I found it hard to breathe. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to punch massive holes in those dingy off - white walls that surrounded me. I was mad at the world. I hated people. I hated God. I hated myself. Who was I to turn to? Who was there to feel my pain? How could the only person that understood me, leave me? I had no one but myself, and I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to get through this by alone.
The days to follow were the roughest days of my life. Throughout the day all I could do was cry. I cried to the point where I gave myself a headache. My eyes were crimson red by the end of every night. I did not speak a word to anyone. I stayed silent while my anger built up inside of me. I felt my blood boiling like overheated water. At that point in time, I felt the urge to hit someone. I wanted everyone to feel the pain that I felt. “It will be alright.” everyone told me. “I know how you feel.” “God has a plan and it was all in his will.” The truth was, no one could begin to imagine how I felt. My heart was gone. I felt like God did not love me anymore. I thought to myself: Am I that bad of a person that God decided I didn’t deserve to have a friend? At that point in time, I lost all my faith in Him.
April 27, 2003 was the hardest day of my life. I was forced to sit there in my own church and watch my best friend lie in a casket and be buried shortly afterwards. The church seemed to have taken on a different vibe. Once before, I would get a warm and secure feeling while I was there. However, this time I felt like I was vulnerable and in a great amount of danger. The wooden walls, the blue, carpet, and the hanging lights all made me want to vomit. How could a church so beautiful hold a funeral for my best friend? The church was packed from the right side of the pew to the left side of the pew. My grandmother was an amazing woman; therefore, I expected the church to be packed. I stared at the white and gold coffin so long I began to go cross-eyed. I began to sulk and a feeling of somberness came over me. I stared at her brown, smooth, lifeless face, and then it hit me, she was gone. I was hoping she was playing a joke on me and she would get up any minute and say April’s fool, but she never got up. The pastor delivered the eulogy, and his message was to rejoice in the Lord for her homecoming instead of weeping. How could a person rejoice when the only person that kept them standing when they wanted to fall died? The closer the pastor got to the close of his eulogy, the madder I got. By the end of the funeral, I was outraged, irritated, depressed, lost, and lonely all at the same time. I did not understand why something like this would happen to me. “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust” were the words I was forced to hear. I had to stand there and watch my grandmother be lowered six feet under the ground. I felt my legs get weak and my head get light. My vision was blurry, and I had no feeling in my body. I was not strong enough to walk, talk, or cry anymore. I stood there like I was frozen. I threw one last red rose on her casket and I was escorted back to the car by my godmother.
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It was April 21, 2003 when I lost my best friend. The walls were off white, the carpet was gray with navy blue spots, and the room was cold. The words, “I’m sorry, but we did everything we could,” were the words I had never wanted to hear. Not only did my grandmother die that day, a piece of me died with her. As I laid on the marble floor, I cried. My eyes began to burn, snot ran down my face, and I found it hard to breathe. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to punch massive holes in those dingy off - white walls that surrounded me. I was mad at the world. I hated people. I hated God. I hated myself. Who was I to turn to? Who was there to feel my pain? How could the only person that understood me, leave me? I had no one but myself, and I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to get through this by alone.
The days to follow were the roughest days of my life. Throughout the day all I could do was cry. I cried to the point where I gave myself a headache. My eyes were crimson red by the end of every night. I did not speak a word to anyone. I stayed silent while my anger built up inside of me. I felt my blood boiling like overheated water. At that point in time, I felt the urge to hit someone. I wanted everyone to feel the pain that I felt. “It will be alright.” everyone told me. “I know how you feel.” “God has a plan and it was all in his will.” The truth was, no one could begin to imagine how I felt. My heart was gone. I felt like God did not love me anymore. I thought to myself: Am I that bad of a person that God decided I didn’t deserve to have a friend? At that point in time, I lost all my faith in Him.
April 27, 2003 was the hardest day of my life. I was forced to sit there in my own church and watch my best friend lie in a casket and be buried shortly afterwards. The church seemed to have taken on a different vibe. Once before, I would get a warm and secure feeling while I was there. However, this time I felt like I was vulnerable and in a great amount of danger. The wooden walls, the blue, carpet, and the hanging lights all made me want to vomit. How could a church so beautiful hold a funeral for my best friend? The church was packed from the right side of the pew to the left side of the pew. My grandmother was an amazing woman; therefore, I expected the church to be packed. I stared at the white and gold coffin so long I began to go cross-eyed. I began to sulk and a feeling of somberness came over me. I stared at her brown, smooth, lifeless face, and then it hit me, she was gone. I was hoping she was playing a joke on me and she would get up any minute and say April’s fool, but she never got up. The pastor delivered the eulogy, and his message was to rejoice in the Lord for her homecoming instead of weeping. How could a person rejoice when the only person that kept them standing when they wanted to fall died? The closer the pastor got to the close of his eulogy, the madder I got. By the end of the funeral, I was outraged, irritated, depressed, lost, and lonely all at the same time. I did not understand why something like this would happen to me. “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust” were the words I was forced to hear. I had to stand there and watch my grandmother be lowered six feet under the ground. I felt my legs get weak and my head get light. My vision was blurry, and I had no feeling in my body. I was not strong enough to walk, talk, or cry anymore. I stood there like I was frozen. I threw one last red rose on her casket and I was escorted back to the car by my godmother.
Click To Continue