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On Thursday February 16, 2012 at 10:01pm, my father passed away. On Friday I wrote a tribute to him, although it was too short and not as good as I’d hoped it to be but it was the best I could accomplish at the time. You can read it here if you wish.
Also, if you happened to leave a comment and read the tribute, I want to thank you once again for all of your support. It was greatly appreciated and it truly helped. The Vine can be such a wonderful, supportive place.
This will be my first article in Chaplain’s Corner. Enoch started the group and it was a wonderful idea. I feel I owe it to him to try and put my struggle with grief into words. He has been a wonderful, caring and thoughtful Vine friend and I hope to meet him in real life in the near future.
At first, I wondered how I could make this article unique and the answer was obvious – since I write a good deal about religion and atheism, it only makes sense to explore the topic from that angle. The first part will be about things that helped me cope and the second with atheism and how that can effect the mourning process as well as a few news items I found on the subject. I hope this article will prove helpful to someone in the future.
Steps that are helping me cope
Everyone handles grief differently and I think it would be extremely arrogant of me to assume that my way is the best way or the only way. I make this list more as a guideline or suggestion for people who are struggling with their own grief.
1) I was fortunate enough to be able to be with my dad when he passed away. For a long time, I wanted to express my love and admiration for him. The problem was that both of us weren’t really good at expressing emotions and most of all, I didn’t want him to think that I was saying goodbye or giving up hope. I thought about doing it several times but each time decided the timing wasn’t right and I certainly didn’t want to interfere with his fight against cancer.
When it became obvious that his body was failing and he wouldn’t be leaving the hospital, I asked my sister to leave the room and I said everything I’d ever wanted to say to him then and there. I have no idea if he could hear me and he was unable to acknowledge my words, but I certainly hope he did. Regardless, I felt a huge weight lift from me and I’m glad I had the opportunity to do that. If I had to do it all over again, I would put aside the macho-image that seems to permeate society and men in particular and told him how great he was every day.
My mother later told me that he knew how much I loved him and that he had told her recently how proud he was of me. I realize now that while the grieving process is still ongoing, this was really the first step I took.
2) For most of Thursday I tried to remain strong and not cry. This was more to benefit my mom than anything else. Her pain was immense and I felt it my duty to help her through it as best I could. This is an ongoing process and I occupy some of my time looking in on her and making sure she needs for nothing.
3) When I got home from the hospital Friday morning, I went to bed with my wife. I finally allowed myself to really cry. To be honest, I cried many tears while sitting with my father in the hospital but not even that could compare to the cry that I had afterward. My wife held me while I cried like a two year old who had scraped his knee. It wasn’t pretty but I will admit that it helped a great deal. Afterward, I still felt deep sorrow but the best way I can describe it is if you had a horrible headache and popped a Tylenol. After a while, the Tylenol took the edge off the headache even though you knew it hadn’t gotten rid of it completely.
I have to say my wife was and continues to be incredibly supportive.
4) I stay busy. I hardly ever just sit there and reflect. Whether that means taking out the garbage, doing the dishes, writing or just going for a drive, I try to stay occupied as much as possible. If you’ve recently lost a loved one, this might work for you as well. If you have a hobby or something that brings a smile to your face, try doing it if you can.
5) Friends and family are a great help. My wife in particular. Sometimes I just need to talk to her and she’s always there to sound off on. She also has an uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling. I think friends and family can be a great asset when losing a loved one.
6) Some people need more time than others. I’m at work now and I feel that was the best choice for me. I was asked if I needed time off, but I felt that staying busy was important to me and work is a good place to do that. For others, they may need some time off work to assimilate and heal.
The Atheist angle
If I were a religious person, they might call what I’ve been going through a ‘crisis of faith’. The idea that my father is sitting in heavenly paradise is a soothing one and something I very much wish I could believe.
Today when I got to work, a co-worker of mine left a card for me. It reads: “With sympathy to all the family. May the loving hand of God touch you with peace at this sad time.”
I very much appreciate the sentiment, even though I don’t believe in God. She meant well with the card and I thank her for that. However, for other atheists, this might be construed as the exact opposite of helpful.
As an example, here’s an interesting news article on what I’m trying to get across here:
She knew their intentions were good, but their words weren't always helpful. And in the rawness of her grief, Hensler found some of them downright hurtful.
Hensler is an atheist, so when people described her three-month-old son Jude as being an angel, or part of God's plan, or "in a better place" than in his mother's arms, the pain sometimes overwhelmed her.
"(Atheists) don't think we are going to get to hold our children again," Hensler told a group of about 30 members of the East Bay Atheists, a monthly gathering of nontheists, where her descriptions of people's visions of her son as an angel drew a few gasps.
"We are facing an absolute loss, so when someone projects onto that the idea that we are going to be able to hold our children again or communicate with them, it is essentially dismissing the magnitude of that loss."
And further down:
"When I became an atheist, death was one of the hardest issues I had to deal with," said Greta Christina, a prominent atheist activist who encouraged Hensler to establish Grief Beyond Belief.
"I didn't know about atheist writings or communities that could help me through it. … I don't want anyone else to have to go through that alone."
Rabbi Peter Schweitzer, leader of New York's City Congregation for Humanistic Judaism, which has long held secular funeral services, said grief is a universal experience that requires different responses.
"Secular people feel as racked with sorrow as the next person," he said. "Christians mourn differently than Jews who mourn differently than Muslims. There ought to be space for those who don't share religious beliefs to mourn, too."
Speaking before the Berkeley group, Hensler said she became sure there was a need for a completely secular grief site when she began an online conversation with a former Christian minister who first lost his faith and then his two teenage sons.
An acquaintance told him the boys' deaths were punishment for his atheism. That drew gasps from the Berkeley group, too. Hensler said she hoped Grief Beyond Belief would become a place where isolated or new atheists, like the former pastor, could find comfort and support.
If you’re an atheist and are struggling through some of the same issues described in this article, you might find help at Grief Beyond Belief, which is a growing community support group for atheists who have lost loved ones and want to mourn without the trappings, rituals and prayers associated with belief.
Sometimes as atheists, we tend to forget how small a minority we really are. Something like a death in the family can really drive home the point that there isn’t a whole hell of a lot of institutions that can help you recover from the loss that doesn’t involve religion. Hopefully, that changes in the near future. I fully suspect that it will, since the atheist community is growing rapidly.
Although, I will admit that my dad’s death has caused me to examine and reexamine my non-belief in a deity, I don’t feel sorry about that.
I also read a wonderful blog post on The Friendly Atheist. It was a column where a reader was asking the same sorts of questions and facing the same dilemma I have over the last few days. Here’s what the reader asked:
Dear Richard,
After rolling through many years without major crises, my family seems to have gotten our bad luck all at once in the form of some mutated cells. My grandfather and pet both have cancer, my boyfriend’s aunt just died of it, I’m scheduled to get a mysterious breast lump checked out, and my father just had a painful biopsy with less than promising conclusions. As I wait for results of various tests and procedures, I’m shocked to find myself actively fighting the urge to pray. I was raised Christian and was a devout child but have been an atheist for about 7 years (I’m 23). I thought I was comfortable with my decision, but faced with the possibility of losing beloved family members, I catch myself with clasped hands, asking God or the universe to influence fate in a way that I know in my head is impossible. I’m somewhat shaken and ashamed at my behavior. Am I a fair-weather atheist? Am I still religious and just didn’t realize it? I consider myself a rational, logical person, and perhaps I just need to learn how to deal with these huge, life-changing problems without the false comfort of prayer. What do you think I should do the next time I feel this way, and is this a normal struggle for atheists?
His response was a very good one in my opinion. The first few lines in particular really resonated with me. I will post them here, but feel free to read the entire reply by clicking the link I provided above.
Dear Rachael,
I think the first thing you should do is to forgive yourself for being human. The second thing is to move beyond forgiving yourself, since there is nothing wrong with being human.
To be human is to be continually pulled between your reason and your emotions. It is unavoidable that at times you will be inconsistent and conflicted between these two parts of your nature, especially during stressful or worrisome situations.
Faced with the possibility of losing family members as well as a threat to your own health, it is very understandable that you would experience impulses from your younger years. Yes, your struggle is a very common one for atheists, especially for those who were taught comforting religious beliefs as children.
As I have said in a few other posts, the process of letting go of childhood religious beliefs is two-fold: The intellectual part tends to be much quicker than the emotional part. A person’s rational mind can conclude that religious comforts and assurances are false, but years later they might still feel grief for the loss of that comfort and assurance. In very difficult times the desire for it can become very insistent. The child we once were does not cease to exist when we become adults; it just takes a back seat. Under certain conditions, it can temporarily return to the forefront.
I think he’s spot on and I hope his response as well as the news story about Grief Beyond Belief will show other atheists that they’re not alone and there are alternatives to help them cope if needed.
