Grief and Nonbelief: A Few Thoughts
When my mother died, I took it hard. As an atheist, I harbored no illusions of a future reunion in some idyllic afterlife. She was dead and I was never going to see her again. Ever. No more weekend phone calls. No more dinners at Big Boy as she downed endless cups of coffee. No more discussing politics or the news of the day. No more telling her of the latest achievements of her grandchildren, whom she adored. No more anything. My religious family members, however, spoke of her awakening into eternal life and of meeting her again when they themselves exited this mortal plane. I can’t truly say I exactly envied the comfort their belief gave them, but it did seem they were having an easier time dealing with her death than I was. In fact, I seemed to be the only one to even USE the term “death”. For them, she had “passed on” or “gone to be with the Lord” or some such euphemism. For me, she was dead. For them, she was… in some sense, at least… eternally alive. And so, I grieved. And i...