Why I Believe In A Higher Power
Okay, so I was scared to write about this because some people will consider it truly evil, but I look back at it as a lesson learned & now, it’s actually kind of funny. So read on, but don’t judge me… you’re not perfect either. Or go ahead and judge, but you’ll have to deal with the consequences someday.
About ten years ago, I was living at the poverty level with my first husband. We were both in school, living in a one bedroom apartment and working two jobs to make ends meet. That didn’t stop me from following my higher calling in the arts, though. I just had to get creative with my creativity. Since money was tight, art supplies were scarce.
I’ve always been fascinated with drying my own flowers & making my own potpourri (especially since it was so expensive to buy potpourri at the time.) So when I found a book on how to make your own, I was pretty excited. The only problem was, where was I going to find an endless supply of fresh flowers?
“That’s easy,” said the ex. “At the cemetary.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking, because I thought the same thing. My Catholic upbringing immediately kicked in the Guilt Reflex. “No way,” I said. “That’s sick.”
“Seriously, who cares? They’re dead. They don’t care,” my ex convinced me. So we loaded up in the old beat-up Toyota & headed down to the local cemetary. We steared clear of the funeral in progress & drove towards the back. Under an blue tent in the back was a large display of funeral arrangements. I took my plastic bag and cautiously approached the grave. As I started to pull the stems from the arrangements, I looked down at the headstone on the fresh grave and mumbled a silent apology to “George.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr. George, but I promise you’ll live on in my memory,” I told the dirt. It did not respond, but I left with the most uneasy feeling I’ve ever had. That night I pulled the petals from the stems & laid them out to dry on a screen in the back of our closet.
Two days later I came down with the most wicked kidney infection I’ve ever had. It was so painful that I could not move from the fetal position. I felt like someone had stabbed a knife into my lower back, & the searing pain was so intense that my ex had to physically carry me into the emergency room. A couple off CCs of morphine later, I was told I had a cyst on my kidney that was being smashed between my infected kidney & spleen, and that the pain would subside as the antibiotics kicked in. We didn’t have health insurance, so we had to pay the entire hospital bill out of pocket, and I couldn’t afford to stay overnight in the hospital. So I went home with a bottle of Amoxicillin and a renewed sense of faith & karma.
As soon as I felt better, I dumped all the flowers I’d stolen in the garbage, and spent money we didn’t have to bring fresh flowers to George’s grave. Call him God, Allah, Budda, whatever you want. Call it faith, karma, vengence, I don’t care. There is a balance on this earth that must be maintained, and whether it’s controlled by the forces of the Universe or the Hand of a Supreme Being, I just know one thing.
I’m definately don’t want to piss it off again.