An Atheist in Mourning
Today is kinda eh. It’s not only the two-month anniversary of my dad’s death, it would have been his 55th birthday. I’m meeting my mom, sister, his girlfriend and one of his old friend’s for dinner to celebrate his life, share stories, etc. But today just sucks.
Sometimes it feels like he’s been gone for so long, and sometimes it hits me how new this all feels, and it hurts all over again. I’m used to missing my dad – he moved to Florida when I was about 12, and there was a long stretch of time a few years ago when I was denied regular access to him. So, missing him hurts – but I can deal. It’s the sudden, gut-punch of realization that the missing is never going to end that really gets me. I am not saving these stories up for later, or to write down for him. He’s just … never coming back.
And that’s what I think the hardest part is about being an atheist. My dad just isn’t there anymore. He isn’t in Florida, he isn’t on vacation, he just no longer exists. People will try to comfort you with things like “He’ll always be with you” or “He’s watching over you” or “You’ll meet him again.” And that’s just … not true. Sure, he’ll always be in my heart and memory and all he taught me and all that jazz. But he’s just not here anymore. He’s nowhere.
And I get it the whole comforting aspect of religion. I totally do. It would be so nice to believe that this isn’t the end, and that he’s out there, somewhere, just not accessible to me. But I don’t and never will. But sometimes I really, really want to.