Matty Mouse

After way too many shots of whiskey and too many conversations about our childhood and the way our parents always forced us out of bed to go to church on Sundays, Vinny asked me if now, after everything, if I still had faith. I definitely don't go to church anymore.  I haven't thought about going to church in ages, and on the few rare occasions that I actually am at home, my mom doesn't ask anymore if I want to go to church.  It makes me realize that the few people that know what's happened to me, the few people who know where I've been, don't think I have any faith left at all. It's easy to see, easy to understand that.  When your son is taken from you before he even has a chance to experience life, what reason is there to have faith? To believe in this God that's supposed to help you? 

In reality, I have all the reasons to believe in it.  I have all the reasons to have all the faith in the world.  And sometimes, sometimes my faith waivers, but it's never left me completely.  It's never left me complete, because there is this beautiful little boy, with huge hazel eyes and a mop of curly hair on top of his head, who's next to God.  Holding his hand and watching everything that I do.  There's a little boy that one day, I want to hold again.  I want to kiss his cheeks again and tell him that this time, this time I can promise him Daddy isn't going anywhere.  Maybe my mind is stuck somewhere that it shouldn't be, but I'm not going to let it fade.  It's my safe spot.  The spot where I can finally feel like someone is keeping that little man safe until it's my turn to take care of him again.