I was actually okay with mom's passing.

However, I have heard recounts from therapists and grief counselors of the intense anger that death survivors will often misdirect towards ‘God' when a loved one dies; but, why?

Because, ours is an impatient species demanding answers immediately.

In the absence of the answers we desire, it is far easier placing blame and accusation rather than confronting head-on those awkward, uncomfortable feelings we experience from personal loss.

It was not until after she died that I began to glimpse into the world my mom had constructed: a personal and candid method of existence, which surely only she understood. Generally, the more mainstream the ware, the faster and farther away from it she would shy, retreating instead to some fictitious make-believe place in which she choose to take comfort from the external, offending world.

As I now navigate my own adulthood, I appreciate more and more her conscripted safe haven. As I mature, I too, often construct my own imaginary safe haven as well.

Looking back, the more I distanced myself from acknowledging the pain of her passing, the more detached I grew from my emotions. To numb the persistent haunting of living without a father, of growing up without siblings, of life without any tangible relatives, I embraced instant gratification and submerged rapidly into sexual addiction and alcohol abuse.

Early on I generalized that ‘Love' was merely a four-letter-word.

When mom died, I remembered mom saying once that only "God's love" gave her the strength to cope with my grandfather's, her dad's, loss. In remembering this, I now realize that at the time, I hadn't fully come to grips with my grandfather's death either until the hours immediately following mom's death. In one fell swoop, I remember suddenly having had to simultaneously confront the death of not just one beloved family member, but rather, two...

I remember the finality of grandpa's death becoming glaringly clear as I sat morning the death of his daughter. Conversely, I remember the finality of mom's death glaring just as clear while suddenly mourning the death of her dad. I took out a pen and remember being sickened by the note I wrote:

"My grandfather is dead.

Now my mother is too...

And The Lord didn't even bother coming to their funerals..."