I was 9 years old when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I was still young – a child. I wasn’t finished with having a mom, I still needed her. I knew that someday I would need to talk about boys and…girl stuff. I couldn’t do that with my father! I certainly wasn’t ready to lose my mother so I started to pray to God. My family had always been very active at our local church and I was taught to put my faith in God. I said my prayers every night and tried to be a model citizen. When the doctors sat me down and tried to explain what was happening to my mother, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. How could God stand idly by and allow my mother to become so ill? I was positive that it was just a mistake! He meant to give her candy! Not cancer! Well, that’s how 9-year olds think…the doctors just didn’t know what they were doing. Despite their efforts, I didn’t trust anyone was trying to make her better. I was convinced though, that if I prayed with all my might, God would hear me and make my mommy better. That’s how prayer works, right? Well every night, I kneeled next to my bed and asked God to heal my mother. For 2 weeks, every night, I asked, but nothing happened – so I prayed harder, twice a day. My mother lay sick in the hospital for 6 weeks, and then she died. I asked God for help every day for 6 weeks and not once did He care enough to save her.
That’s when I lost my faith in religion. I was 9 years old and my mother had been torn away from me. Everyone tried to help, but I didn’t want help, I wanted my mother. It’s been 7 years since I lost her. In that time, I have opened myself back up. I am conquering my teenaged years with my father one at a time and it has brought us closer together. I have still not regained my faith in God, but I have come to understand that I couldn’t blame my loss on Him and while I resented the statement “these things happen” for a while, I know that there is nothing that I could have done.