I can’t tell you how many times I’ve opened up this screen to type something today… and nothing comes out. Or I start writing and it just sounds wrong. I hate it when I have so much floating around in my head, but it’s such a muddle of thoughts that I can’t really make anything coherent out of it.<\/p>\n
I find myself thinking outloud a lot – like I wrote before<\/a>, sending a “prayer” out into the nothingness. I catch myself doing it and question what the hell I’m doing. I decided my belief hasn’t changed – I still don’t believe in a god who is listening to what I say. It’s more along the lines of my writing. Before I started blogging, when I was in high school and even before then, I kept a diary. Part of my writing is to have a record of my life, something I can look back at. But part of my writing is the simple urge to express myself. It really doesn’t matter if I have someone listening or not (sometimes that can be a hindrance) – sometimes, like in the case of my personal hand-written diaries, I took steps to ensure no one did<\/i> read it. I wasn’t writing to a divine being, I was just writing to write. Just as now, when I stop about my day and mutter and swear and beg and plead. It’s a release, it’s a meditation. It’s about awknowledging those emotions that try to overwhelm me.<\/p>\n The whole god thing really pisses me off a lot lately. Once in a while I’ll come across some post or another where someone very innocently mentions how their faith, their prayers, have kept their baby safe. Even a simple praising god for the safety and health of their child, their pregnancy. It just overwhelms me with frustration. Do these people believe that their god didn’t like me enough? Or maybe they think that my lack of faith is why their god killed my baby? How the hell do they reconcile themselves when someone of their own faith loses a child? “God has a plan.” Well if that’s the case, then their prayers for their baby had absolutely NO effect, either god’s plan was for the baby to live, or the baby to die. I will never understand, it just seems so non-sensical. I see many people finding comfort in their faith after a loss… I simply cannot imagine it. If I really thought there was a being, a creator, who allowed my baby to die, who lets me suffer like this, I would be pissed beyond belief.<\/p>\n I also don’t believe in an afterlife. I don’t believe I’m going to be reunited with Devin one day, I don’t believe he’s “alive in spirit.” I wrote about Tess and the rainbow bridge<\/a>, and I said “IF there was a heaven.” I really meant that if<\/i>. To me the rainbow bridge is another myth, a folklore story. It’s a good story, it’s good symbolism. But it’s just not real. Devin is dead. He lived for a little while, and now he is gone. I weep mostly for the potential him that was lost. I think about the life he should have had – that’s what hurts the most. I hurt for me and my husband, who know<\/i> what we lost. Death itself doesn’t scare me. Maybe that’s strange to people. My own husband (also an athiest) is terrified of death. But to me… once you’re dead you don’t think, you don’t feel, you don’t hurt. You can’t feel sad about the things you never got to do, you can’t miss your loved ones, you can’t wish for something different. The part I fear about death is other people dying: my husband, my brother, my parents, my friends, my pets. My baby. I fear their deaths – I fear them leaving me.<\/p>\n