Going back to school after my dad’s funeral was really hard for me. I’d sit at my desk with my head down, drawn into my own little world. I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t do my work in class—I just sat there with my head on my desk, trying hard not to cry. I heard the teacher tell the class that I had lost my dad and just needed some time to feel better.

The next day one of my classmates stopped by my desk and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry about your dad,” she said. “I hope these will help you.” She then handed me two little glow-in-the-dark figures made out of plastic (kind of like those glow-in-the-dark stars that you stick on the walls or ceiling). They were of a boy and girl with their hands placed together, kneeling in prayer. I looked up with tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I said.

That little act of kindest really touched my heart and I don’t think she’ll ever know how much it had meant to me at the time. I kept those little figures on my desk for the longest time. I still have them, tucked away in one of my little treasure boxes, and if I knew where Rosie was today, I would like to thank her for the kindness she had shown me back then. It really did mean a lot.

Every night I held those figures up to the bedroom light and then set them on the desk by my bed so I could see them glowing there in the dark as I tried to go to sleep … something I was never able to do very well since my dad’s death.

I don’t think anyone in my family realized at the time, just how devastated I was about the whole thing … after all … other than me, no one else knew about those terrible words I had uttered. No one could possibly understand how I felt! I probably could have used some type of counseling, and I remember my uncle telling my mom that my sister, Keri, should probably get counseling because of the fact that she was the only one who didn’t really cry very much. I don’t really know how deeply my sisters felt the pain at the time. It’s not something we ever really talked about. They may have been too young to really understand what was going on then.

All I know is that even though I seemed to look well enough throughout the day … when I was in my room at night, the tears would unleash like a broken dam and were unstoppable. I felt that I had caused my father’s death … that God was punishing me for declaring those hateful, spiteful words that I will now never forget. Even during the day sometimes, when my mom and sisters were gone to the store or were out of the house somewhere … when I found myself alone, I would break down and let that wall crumble as I sobbed out loud when no one could see or hear me.

The image of my dad as I saw him that evening when I rushed into the bedroom, kept coming back to haunt me. Those hateful words I had said to him under my breath the week before kept echoing in my mind, “I wish you were dead! I hate you! Why don’t you just drop dead!” The guilt that swept over me was unbearable! Can you imagine having to live with that for the rest of your life? Was God punishing me for being so disrespectful? I was inconsolable under this enormous weight of guilt that penetrated through my very soul, but I couldn’t let anyone else know that.

While everyone in the house was asleep at night, I was lying in bed, my body heaving with my sobs as I tried to be quiet while releasing all of my pain and guilt, the sorrowful remorse and agony I felt. In desperation, I’d cry out to my dad as if he could still hear me, “I’m so sorry, Daddy! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it, Daddy! Please forgive me! Please don’t leave me, Daddy, I need you! I love you, Daddy, please come back!” My body would shake and heave uncontrollably as I poured out my soul in grief, the words barely audible as I tried to stifle the sounds as I cried myself to sleep.

I have never in my life experienced such pain and agony as I did at that time. I knew then what it meant in the scriptures to be in the pits of hell, racked with eternal pain and torment, to be in the gall of bitterness and despair.

I would wake up in the mornings and my entire pillow would literally be soaked from my tears that night! This would be an almost nightly occurrence for me for many years down the road, and no one ever knew about it as far as I know, until now.