Flea markets in Heaven
On Thursday morning there was a shooting rampage at ABB here in St Louis. My long term boyfriend's father was one of those gunned down in the parking lot and murdered in cold blood.
His son was my high school boyfriend and my fiancee during college when we lived together in a series of tiny apartments.
His parents were always very good to me.
His father taught me to love the flea market.
He taught me everything I know about credit and money and savings and spending and being thrifty.
He was kind and warm and funny and never got riled up.
At the time I was feeling very unsure about God and he used to say to me, "You know Sarah Lynn, believing in God is free, so I go ahead and do it. Besides, if I don't believe and I am wrong, then what happens? Nothing bad can come from believing."
It helped me believe in God.
He used to tease his little boys and hold them on the floor while tickling them until they would scream "Daddy's meaner and I am a wiener!"...and every time the going gets tough for me I still say "I'm meaner."
It helps me get through.
Who we are is really a collection of our life experiences, and in my collection he played a very big role at a pivotal time in my life.
I may not have been able to make a go of it with his son, but he came to my wedding when I married David and he was happy for us.
In fact, we just saw him at the flea market this fall.
There are few men on earth who are as honest and faithful as he was.
It's just fucking wrong that it ended that way.
My heart breaks for his wife, his kids.
Big ***, I hope you are at the best flea market ever. In heaven.