Dear Mother/Father God: I ain ga lie. I’d like to know why? I know there is a rhyme and reason. I know it was written, somewhere in that book of life. I know it was a part of your plan all along. Everything you do is in perfect harmony. Someone told me there are no right angles in nature? How profound. Steele was born on the day my aunt’s mother died. He died on the day that same aunt was born. How profound that must be for her.
My ego thinks it deserves an explanation. It looks around and sees all these people. It wonders of all the billions of people on the planet, why that particular one at that particular time? I know you don’t owe us life; you don’t owe us an explanation, but my ego is still asking. Why is it asking? I am not quite sure, but I suppose it’s trying to fas’ in your business: to be nosy. Who wouldn’t want to read your diary of life.
Steele asked you, before he realised what was really happening to him, before he knew the answer. He asked, when he was alone in his apartment; I was safely tucked away in The Bahamas; his mother was patiently waiting for that call. He asked: ‘Why all the pain?’ He asked: ‘Why all the suffering?’ He said that was the first and the last time he asked. Perhaps, you answered his question. Perhaps the answer was: “Peace be with you.” Soon after, you told him to leave his apartment and go to his mother’s house; he never made it back, and he was at peace.
I looked outside yesterday and saw a bird flying above. I wondered, are you my Man of Steele? I felt an ant crawling up my leg, and I wondered, are you my Man of Steele? I looked up at the clouds, and I wondered, are you my Man of Steele? I held my god-daughter with my arms wrapped around her, and I wondered, are you my Man of Steele? Someone asked me if I was mad at Steele. I said, no. How could I be mad at God? I am stopped dead in my tracks: awe-stricken. Sometimes I think you both pulled a fast one on me.
My Aunt Ruth says there is something special out there for me [and everyone else]. She says I have to work for it with purpose and desire. In my head, I said, that’s the problem. I realize when people do things without purpose and desire, and without a sense of worthiness, their actions lose power. I feel very powerless right now. Aunt Ruth has lived the equivalent of my life in years more than three times over. That means I could possibly have three more lives out there waiting for me to manifest. They say we should number our days. I am on day 9,008. Aunt Ruth is on day 29,062. I’m not so sure about the saying, ‘the good die young’. Aunt Ruth is like the tree of life. You just tap it and down falls a flurry of wisdom; leaves of different shapes and sizes. I see you when I look at her.
She told me I should walk into the church where his funeral was being held with joy. She said when people looked at me they should see all the happy years Steele and I spent together. I had intended to do that, but when I got there, I just felt like “My God!” Steele told me in the hospital he never knew prayer could make him cry. He said: “I am just craving for prayer like I am craving for food.” That’s how I felt. You brought me to tears.
Steele always used to say, ‘what is joke/joy to one person is death to another’. I think about the fact that I could have lived 100 years with him in the hospital. Every day I woke up with such a sense of purpose and desire. I would spend 12 hours at the hospital and not ever realize what time of day it was. Even though we often sat in silence, I could hear him and I could hear you. You were telling me to be still. You were telling me to listen. You were telling me to trust. You were telling me to hold your hand. You were telling me to love myself. You were telling me to be gracious, to be gentle. You were telling me to honour myself. You were telling me to look you in the eye.
100 years in hospital: that would have been like 100 years in hell for Steele. I couldn’t have wished such torture on him. So I wished that your will be done. And it was signed sealed and delivered. Now we can only sit in silence. I can write him these letters. I can offer you these words of prayer. Last week I told the ocean I was offering you a gift of love. Steele wrote you a love poem. It’s called his life. He didn’t get to write everything down, but I think you already saw the movie.
He always tried to be a better man for me. He always tried to be a better person for you. And he did those both with purpose and desire. He just didn’t realize he was working for you all along. Thank you for helping him to see. It’s like a mango. They don’t taste as good in the dark. You always wonder if you’re eating a worm. But that glorious light that makes us see clearly. That makes us see you. That makes us see ourselves with Perfect Love and Thanksgiving.
Thanks be to God!