Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 125681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
“Pray for me now, Cole. I want to go to heaven.”
“It’s not your time to go yet, Dad. You still have so much work to do here on Earth.”
“My time is done.”
“What about us—your children?”
“You’ve always been the golden child. I trust that you will do right by them.”
My bottom lip quivered. “I can’t. . .”
Snow sprinkled his gray hair. Dad pointed to the large lake in front of the house. “Do you remember why they call it Devil’s Lake?”
I blinked away snowflakes. “The early settlers thought the devil lived at the bottom of it because the water always got impossibly hot in the summer.”
Dad let out a dark chuckle. “Your mother almost didn’t want us to move here because of that old legend. It took a lot of convincing.”
“Come inside, Dad.” I scooted over, barely a foot. It was still not close enough to get him. “You can tell me more about the story inside.”
“When the police come, tell them that I was fixing the roof.” Dad pointed to the ground. “I dragged out all of my tools and placed them by the garage. I wanted it all to seem more logical. Tell the police I was trying to change some of the shingles.”
“Why would I say that?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Then, take the police report to the insurance company.”
“No, Dad.”
“Cole, it’s better this way. With my death, you’ll get a big check to last the kids and you for years—”
“We want you, not some insurance money.” I slid over and almost slipped on the ice.
Dad frowned. “Be careful, Cole.”
Angry, I screamed, “You be careful!”
Snow landed on my face and arms.
My chest rose and fell with my frantic breathing.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry for yelling, Dad. Let’s go inside and get some warm soup. Erin made—”
“Tell me something, Cole.”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Dad?”
His eyes watered. “Is suicide a mortal sin? If I jump, will I be cut off from God’s sanctifying grace?”
I knew I should lie and say anything to get him back in the house. Yet, there was always something inside of me that would never let me lie to my parents. Whatever dishonest people had in their brains, I had not been born with it.
I swallowed. “Christianity is divided. Suicide is a man-made debate. Therefore, this is a question to God. One that you should take to Him in prayer. ”
“But what are your thoughts?”
I scowled. “It’s cold, Dad. Let’s talk about this inside the house.”
“Tell me and I will.”
I held onto that hope. “Promise?”
Dad nodded. “I promise that once you give me the answer, I will go inside.”
“Okay.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Many believe suicide is morally wrong. It has the possibility to taint the purity of a person’s soul.”
“But will God forgive me?”
“In the book of Daniel it says, ‘The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.’”
“Then, he will forgive me?”
“I do not know. I’m not God, but. . .I think so.”
Hope filled his eyes. “Read me my last rites like you did for your mother.”
Last rites? No.
I shivered, but not from the frigid wind or the snow that stormed down on us. I trembled from the horrific moment.
I wished I were a kid again. Not the man I had to be, the one who nursed my mother when she was sick, feeding her watery celery soup with a spoon and cleaning her feces-filled adult diapers. I read Mom’s last rites in her final moments. She had smiled up at me weakly and whispered how she was proud.
When I said Amen, she was gone. I covered her with a thin sheet and was grateful that she was no longer experiencing pain.
I gave Dad the news when he returned from work. I was the one who witnessed him crumble to the floor and drown in an unending sea of heartbreaking grief.
And yet again, I was the one who clung to a snow-covered roof and battled with a man that begged me with all his heart to let him kill himself.
“Please, Cole. Read me my last rites.”
Tears left my eyes.
“Don’t cry, Cole,” he whispered. “I’m worth more dead than alive.”
“But we love you.” My bottom lip quivered.
“Love won’t pay the bills, clothe you kids, get the twins their medicine each month, and help Erin, West, and Griffin go to college.”
“You promised that you would come inside if I told you about suicide.”
Dad put his back to me. “I lied.”
Rage blazed through me. “You’re wrong about love!”
He didn’t turn around. “How, son?”
“It’s true that love can’t pay the bills. And sure. . .we need money to survive, but we need your love to stay alive. Your love, Dad. If you go, it will destroy us.”
“Even if you were right about love. . .” He let out a long breath. “When your mom died, she took all of my love with her.”