We All Die For a Reason
April 19, 2006, was a good day. At least that’s what I thought until I got home from school. From what I remember, I was not prepared for what my mother had to tell me. I figured out what she was trying to say after her first sentence. She said,” I got a phone call from your Aunt Gloria today, and she said the police found a man in an alley they think might have been your father.” She continued,” They think he had been indescribably beaten to death and had been laying there for a couple of days.” While she was explaining the details and arrangements I burst into tears. Even though I never had a close relationship with my biological father because of drugs, jail, and the streets, it still hurt knowing that he was gone and never coming back. Even if I did want to build a relationship with him I couldn’t, because someone took him away from me and left me with a hole in my heart that can’t be filled.
While all this was going on I had so much built up anger and my emotions were running wild. I didn’t understand why someone would be so cold-hearted to take the life of another man. My mother explained to me the life my father was living. She told me how he started out slangin’ drugs, but then actually ended up using them. That’s when his life took an ugly turn. He could have gone to any college of his choice but he got caught up in the street game.
After the last time my father got out of jail he tried to do the right thing. That’s what my aunt told my mother and me. She told us that he had been clean for several months and was getting his life straight, like it use to be before the drugs. She also mentioned how he was trying to build a closer relationship with the Lord. Things were going good until he started running with one of his old homeboys who stayed in trouble. So he and my father started doing the same old stuff they use to do. A few months later my father was brutally murdered. My mother told me not to look at the bad in the situation, because there is some good that came out of the whole thing. She explained to me how my father struggled while he was living. Deep down, he wanted to do well and get his life right, but his flesh was too weak. At least he got a chance to get right with God and was able to repent. I believe the death of my father was God taking him home with him so he would no longer have to struggle. If no one knew his intensions, God did and he saved my father from a life of self-destruction. This is why I believe we all die for a reason.
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