Earth to God, Come in God...
So, my posts have petered out to almost nothing lately. If you've noticed, God bless you. The fact is, I've been so self-absorbed for the past few months that I haven't had the energy to share my neuroses with you, or anybody else for that matter. I hope to change that in the days ahead, but don't hold your breath.
My sister died recently, moving death closer to me.
My father died when I was young, so young that I have no memory of him. I remember my mother getting a phone call in the middle of the night and then getting my brother and me out of bed to tell us. My brother (seven years older) sobbed while I sat still as a stone, confused as to how I should feel. My mother and father had divorced a few years earlier and he'd remarried, so I really had no knowledge of him. It was out of this subsequent marriage that my sister, Stormy, was born.
My grandmother died about six years ago, but I really had no feelings for her. She'd been a bitch to me all my life and I knew when she passed I would feel nothing, and I was right.
This has been the extent of my experience with death (other than a couple of cats, a dog and a few dozen hamsters). I knew that by getting married and having children (I have five) that I was exponentially increasing the chances that death would show up sooner than later.
My brother, 45 years old, was deployed to Iraq last year with his National Guard unit and I was afraid he was going to become my first funeral. Then my brother-in-law went to Iraq with the Air Force, and I worried that he'd be it. But both came home safely (physically, at least).
Then, unexpectedly, my sister died.
She was 36 years old and had lived a miserable life. Born diabetic, she was plagued with health problems throughout her life. She was sexually abused by an uncle when she was a pre-teen and told by her mother to keep quiet and pretend everything was normal. She got married young, found that she could not have children, got divorced and then remarried and then divorced. She was chronically sad. She died, officially, from complications due to diabetes. I believe she died because she'd had enough. Sadness has its limits.
I, of course, am 38 years old and haven't had it much better. I was sexually abused by a family friend and tried for 15 years to pretend that everything was normal. I got married at 18, divorced at 28 and remarried. I, of course, have had no trouble reproducing, but to what end? Most days I am a ghost in the lives of my children, floating through halls of depression while they play obliviously. I am chronically sad and angry.
Faith, which used to sustain me, is non-existent. I try to tell myself and my wife that I still have faith, but it just isn't true. Christians annoy the shit out of me, frankly. I recently explored Buddhism, thinking it was the practical side of Christianity without the wackos who gather in Christ's name. But, you know what? Buddhists are whacked too.
So, I press on, cautiously moving through a dense forest of tangled vines, looking for God and friendship and security and happiness. Stormy pressed on through her own foreboding forest, but she didn't find any of these things. She died alone, unmarried and without children, and left no legacy at all. She will not be remembered by this world for the most part. Which begs the question: Why was she here at all? I know it's a cliche to ask where God is in these kinds of things, but I think it's a damn good question. Why make people who are destined to spend their lives in misery? It seems kind of cruel when you get right down to it.
So, God, I'm here. And I really want to know you. But I'm having a really hard time cutting through the shit that your followers spew. Are you listening to me?
Earth to God, Come in God...
My sister died recently, moving death closer to me.
My father died when I was young, so young that I have no memory of him. I remember my mother getting a phone call in the middle of the night and then getting my brother and me out of bed to tell us. My brother (seven years older) sobbed while I sat still as a stone, confused as to how I should feel. My mother and father had divorced a few years earlier and he'd remarried, so I really had no knowledge of him. It was out of this subsequent marriage that my sister, Stormy, was born.
My grandmother died about six years ago, but I really had no feelings for her. She'd been a bitch to me all my life and I knew when she passed I would feel nothing, and I was right.
This has been the extent of my experience with death (other than a couple of cats, a dog and a few dozen hamsters). I knew that by getting married and having children (I have five) that I was exponentially increasing the chances that death would show up sooner than later.
My brother, 45 years old, was deployed to Iraq last year with his National Guard unit and I was afraid he was going to become my first funeral. Then my brother-in-law went to Iraq with the Air Force, and I worried that he'd be it. But both came home safely (physically, at least).
Then, unexpectedly, my sister died.
She was 36 years old and had lived a miserable life. Born diabetic, she was plagued with health problems throughout her life. She was sexually abused by an uncle when she was a pre-teen and told by her mother to keep quiet and pretend everything was normal. She got married young, found that she could not have children, got divorced and then remarried and then divorced. She was chronically sad. She died, officially, from complications due to diabetes. I believe she died because she'd had enough. Sadness has its limits.
I, of course, am 38 years old and haven't had it much better. I was sexually abused by a family friend and tried for 15 years to pretend that everything was normal. I got married at 18, divorced at 28 and remarried. I, of course, have had no trouble reproducing, but to what end? Most days I am a ghost in the lives of my children, floating through halls of depression while they play obliviously. I am chronically sad and angry.
Faith, which used to sustain me, is non-existent. I try to tell myself and my wife that I still have faith, but it just isn't true. Christians annoy the shit out of me, frankly. I recently explored Buddhism, thinking it was the practical side of Christianity without the wackos who gather in Christ's name. But, you know what? Buddhists are whacked too.
So, I press on, cautiously moving through a dense forest of tangled vines, looking for God and friendship and security and happiness. Stormy pressed on through her own foreboding forest, but she didn't find any of these things. She died alone, unmarried and without children, and left no legacy at all. She will not be remembered by this world for the most part. Which begs the question: Why was she here at all? I know it's a cliche to ask where God is in these kinds of things, but I think it's a damn good question. Why make people who are destined to spend their lives in misery? It seems kind of cruel when you get right down to it.
So, God, I'm here. And I really want to know you. But I'm having a really hard time cutting through the shit that your followers spew. Are you listening to me?
Earth to God, Come in God...
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