Pray With Me?

 Father died when I was young, I never really knew him. Mother did her best to raise me and every night she would join me at the foot of my bed and ask me to pray with her. To pray for the soul of my father, may he rest in peace. I always thought if I prayed, if I prayed hard enough, long enough it would somehow bring my father back. It would make my mother's tears cease, and it would bring end to maddening silence at the dinner table. It's funny, you know, my mother and I believed praying would solve our problems but it was only false hope. How can a person believe in such nonsense? As the years gone by, my mother visited me less and less every night until we stopped praying altogether. I suppose we grew up in a sense. The death of her husband, my father, awoke our dormant minds. The very minds closed off to the horrors of the world. Now that we have seen what has been needed to be seen I wish I could take it all back, all those prayer-less nights, that is. Sometimes praying is all a person can do to survive. Hoping, wishing that tomorrow would be better than today.