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Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I died at the age of 44

I have always believed I was going to die at a very young age. It started while I was still a small child, and was waiting for the D-day with a lot of enthusiasm. I believed that death was not the end; I already knew that it wasn't and that day was expected to be one of the happiest for me.

I was waiting, praying for it to come. I was expecting God to decide which ending would be the best one for me. I wanted it to be something hard, cruel, a painful death. 

Strangely, I still smile now whenever I remember those dreams I had, my prayers, my daily meditation when I was suggesting to God the scenario that would be appropriate for the end, MY END. 

Those dreams and prayers would fill me with peace. Those dreams were the only place where I would feel my parents' love. I would imagine them around my sick and immobile body, looking at me and wishing they had given me the hugs I had needed for so long.

I waited and waited. Years passed, and God still did not listen. Many times I tried to help Him, to push Him, to encourage Him, but He didn't love me enough to answer. That's what I thought at the time. That's what I still think sometimes. He doesn't love me enough.

Or maybe He does and wants something better for me? How am I to know? I think and I try, I plan and I fail,  I wish and neglect, but in the end, the plans we had agreed on long before I was born are the only ones that will come true.

He gave me a message very long ago that I will die at the age of 44 (I remember mentioning that in one of my Blog posts). Having a known deadline helped me and gave me some additional patience. 
I was getting closer. I was proud. This was the year, the year of the end of my suffering and the year when I would find true love with Him, beside Him. I waited patiently.

My 44th year has been the hardest of my life, and what helped me cope with it is the countdown I was doing. On the 22nd of each month I was getting closer and wondering 'when will it happen and how?'

On June 22nd, my depression was getting worse than ever. Three more months to go! God WHERE ARE YOU? I'm still waiting!! We had a deal, please don't forget me! 

God listened. God answered. He reacted. He sent his Angels for me. He helped them plan for it. He gave His Blessings. He made it smooth. He made it as painless as possible, using the best painkillers made of Love. He kept His promise. I died as planned at the age of 44.

The Nikky who has lived all kinds of horrors in her country of origin, died there at 44, only to be born again in Canada where she will have a long and painful journey, but a journey of freedom and love.

To be continued...