He was my rock.
Oh, God was, of course,
but in human terms,
it was my father.
I had a rock-solid husband
for whom I have been blessed
and continue to be.
But Dad was my first
and always rock.
I knew I'd take it extremely hard
when the time came for him to pass on
and be with Mom.
But even I underestimated
the excruciating pain
I was lost.
I wondered around blindly
for a long while.
Eventually I got my bearings somewhat,
but I still felt lost
I realized that he had also been my church
as he was a Methodist preacher
and the pastor
I held above all others.
I didn't have a church (I gave up church
after a harsh betrayal by a close Christian friend
and my Christian husband)
and that bothered him tremendously.
I didn't understand why I needed one---
that is, until I lost my rock.
It's been seven years
and I am finally able to go through the photos
and sermons and misc.
I also joined a church;
it had been 'his' years ago
when I was growing up.
I'm back living in that small town now,
so once again that church is my church.
He designed the podium and chairs,
so it's easy to picture him there.
My rock. . . I didn't lose him;
he's just watching over me from a distance.
The Cliffs of Moor in Ireland
where my husband and I celebrated
turning 50 together.
I'm joining Five-Minute Friday.