I’ve been living without my wife for seven months now. I’ve had to adjust to a great many things, but the most trying has been my struggle with my faith over that time. I’ve been angry with God, which has consumed me at times. I’ve been angry with Kathy for dying, and I’ve been angry with myself for being pathetic.

At first I was consumed by what I perceived as God’s punishment of me. Why would he take the love of my life from me? Why did he not take me instead? Those questions made me doubt everything I’d ever been taught about God. I began to comb books on philosophy, theology, Jesus, even the Tibetan Book of The Dead. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. I wanted to know why, on Dec. 3, 2009, my wife and I had had a wonderful day that ended in typical fashion.

We lay in bed watching some TV to unwind. We talked about the play that would open the next day starring her eighth-grade drama students. She was so excited and I was excited for her. I had built sets–the word built here is used as loosely as possible–for the production. I had helped at a rehearsal earlier in the evening. We had driven home joking and laughing and holding hands.

“I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to sleep now. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. She patted my hand and rolled over to go to sleep.

A few minutes later I got up to go to the restroom and noticed something didn’t look right about the way she was laying. Because I’m sometimes a little crazy, I took her pulse. It was wild and thin. She was not breathing.

I called 911. I started CPR. The next day she died without ever having regained consciousness.

So in the days that followed, I felt betrayed by God. The Emergency Room doctor told me that Kathy had accidentally overdosed on a combination of prescription medications and a small amount of wine. The combination had caused her stop breathing and had also caused sudden liver failure.

While she told me these things, I wondered what I had done to deserve God’s wrath. I also wondered how a merciful God could allow such pain and suffering. I wondered so much that I read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis almost immediately. It began an obsession of reading about faith and reading the Bible and being afraid I would never see Kathy again if I couldn’t make myself believe in God again.

What I found in all those hours of researching grief, God, religions from across the world and from torturing myself with fear was a simple message: Everybody struggles with faith. Everybody has doubt. Everybody eventually loses someone they love.

With all those things decided, I looked at myself in the mirror. I allowed myself to be human and to have flaws and accepted that I have the best kind of faith in God that there is. I have the kind of faith that keeps me seeking God almost every day.

From these months of searching I have also found something I wanted to share those who read these words.

First, you have permission to be angry with God or the god of your understanding. You also have permission to be angry at the world. It is okay to question God, the person you’ve lost, even yourself, but at the end of it all, leave a little room for forgiveness.

Finally, I can say that I do believe in God, I am gaining acceptance of Kathy’s death, and I’m not pathetic at all. I’m just grieving.