I've juggled with this thought a time or two. I wanted it to be true; we all did. But I believe he died that awful day in June, 2009. I've wished it weren't true, but no amount of wishes or tears or prayers can change the fact that, whether you believe him faking or you believe him really dead, he's gone. Not coming back to us. I've been trying to find my peace with that for the past two and a half years. Most days, I celebrate all he was instead of lamenting all he wasn't able to still be, and that gets me by. I have angry days, weeping sad days, emotional longing for days of old, but when I turn off my computer at the end of the day and lay my head down, I think of him and pray for him that he's truly dancing in heaven, and then I thank God for the 50 years He gave him to us before He took him home.

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