Jealousy

Have you ever looked upon a group of children playing, without a care in the world, and thought to yourself, “Look at those kids enjoying themselves, I wish I could be just like them again  I am so jealous.”?  Well, recently I had a similar experience, but not in watching young people living their lives with joy, but rather when I was dealing with the complete opposite end of the spectrum.  If you read my previous entry, you know my mother was battling cancer.  Last Saturday morning, cancer won, and my mother passed.  The thoughts that I am coping with, however, aren’t the feelings of sorrow and loss of my mom.  Don’t get me wrong, they are there, and will always be, but I can reconcile those feelings.  No, what troubles me is my jealousy, my jealousy towards everyone who finds comfort in their belief in god.

As I stood up front greeting people at the wake, without fail the majority of those who didn’t really know me well would express their condolences followed by some form of “She’s with god now” or “She’s in a better place”.   I know those people were sincere and that they believe everything they are saying, but I don’t believe in god.  Most of the people that truly know me know that about me.  However, I certainly didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable, so I did what any decent person would do and thank them for their kind words.  I even had a priest come in and do a brief memorial service, because that’s what my mother would have wanted.  It was a very nice service, in lieu of a funeral, and I was glad we did it.

It wasn’t until after everything was over that I realized how I felt about the people I mentioned.  Those people who wept when I didn't.  The folks that prayed for my mother, while all I did was try to be there for her as much as I could.  The priest who spoke so eloquently about this woman he had never met, this woman who in his words “went home”, while I sat there and listened, all the while knowing that her life ended Saturday September 14th at 2:30 AM, and there was no tomorrow for her.  She will only live on in memories.  Yet, while everyone comforted  themselves with their faith (and I am sure that they are wrong) since the evening of the service I can’t shake this feeling.  This feeling of jealousy towards the faithful.

I have been an Atheist for several years now.  The need to believe in a god escapes me.  However, I recognize that I am in a minority, and I respect all people’s viewpoints probably more than they respect mine.  I see it as something that keeps them warm at night, thinking they are being protected by an entity that, if it were real, allows for all the ill in the world to continue at the same time it takes care of them.  I just will never again be able to wrap my head around believing in something I cannot quantify.  This rationalization does not help me shake the feeling I have now.  Why can’t it be so easy for me to say things like “She’s gone home now”?  For once I wish I was like the people, who at any other time in recent memory I scoff at, that can find comfort thinking she is being taken care of by their god.  I am merely left knowing she is gone, and, dammit, I’m jealous.  I want to be like one of those kids, even for a little while.  But I can't.