My sis is having surgery on Friday. I haven't talked to her in a couple of weeks and I dont know why, we usually talk a least once a week, but since she is closer to becoming a grandma and so involved with her hubs and stuff, we just dont have so much in common. She is living her dream and I am so happy for her. Getting her breast tissue removed so she doesn't have to worry about the cancer anymore will be such a stress relief for her and hopefully she will be able to enjoy her boob job for years to come. I heard she was planning to go up to a D, though I dont know why? I have been a D since I was 12 and its a real pain in the ass to find bras and cute shirts. She was nagging me last time we talked to go in and get my biopsy done...its been a year now since I was supposed to do that, but Rog, I just am not gonna go there. Im tired. You know my theory on things, that once you find out from the damn doctors that it just seems to speed things up? Grandpa was fine until they told him the cancer was too far spread and he was dying, then dammit...he died. Uncle James was doing okay until they told him the cancer was in his kidneys and liver and then, he died. The damn doctors have done nothing for me for years except throw meds at me and do tests and stick needles in my spine and crap and I am done with all that. I am okay mostly, and I think its just better that I operate on the ,"No news is good news" theory.
Son and I have been butting heads on the whole issue of God and faith. He wants me to go to church. I try to politely decline on the basis that it is beyond my comfort zone because those people seem to have no problem with just walking up and grabbing me or touching me without asking. They stare at me and crowd me and I dont like it. I also have issues with the church music. I am a traditional hymn kinda person. I dont like this whole modern, lets have a damn band with a stadium sound system in the church , kinda set up. I like the old style hymns that came from the heart, sang from the heart with maybe a organ or a guitar as accompaniment. When I used to have faith, I went to a tiny, little wood frame church that looked like a church. It had wooden pews with a pulpit and an old minister with a bunch of old church ladies that made potlucks on special occasions. The floors of the church were wood, and it was old and traditional with trees surrounding it and a cemetery out back. Folks had been going there for their entire lives. I had to dress up to attend, no jeans were allowed. Men wore suits, I wore nice pants, but most girls wore dresses. I didn't go often but when I went it felt like church should feel. That church is gone now,the mine dug up that area for lignite and tore it down. I dont like the big McChurchs with the sound systems and people in jeans and stuff, it doesn't feel right, but then again, God and I have our issues.
When he took G in the way that he did, I quit going to church. It was hard enough to drive past that spot where he died without pausing there and being reminded. But I also couldn't reconcile the belief in a being that would take someone I cared about in such a hideous manner, so I had to take time to consider things. Then grandpa got sick...and he suffered, for months and months, in pain that not even the strongest morphine could touch. I heard mom talking to dad on the phone after she left to go help grandma. Dad wasn't particularly careful about keeping me from knowing what was going on, in fact I think he was angry that mom was gone and wanted to spread the pain. Then when grandpa finally died and I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral to say goodbye...that was another step away. But I slammed the door when the night I was up on the Piggly Wiggly parking lot with my friends, drinking beer and talking and a preacher came up to testify to me and try and "Save me from corruption."I asked him why God would take two people like G and my grandpa when there was so much evil in the world, that G had been a good and kind boy who had reached out to me and been kind and my grandpa had been an honorable and hard working man who had served his country and dedicated his life to service to others? The preacher asked me," Were they in church every Sunday and paying the tithe?" I said that G was but a boy and my grandpa had to work to support his family, so they couldn't always go to church. The preacher said to me,"They are both burning in hell for their sins." Rog, that was the first time I ever punched a grown assed man in the face. I think I would have killed him if my boyfriend at the time hadn't grabbed me and thrown me in the car. I knew then that if that was what God and his minions were all about , I wanted none of it.
I have seen so much in my life. Senseless death, suffering, loss, and things that just seem to not make sense. I try to reconcile that some of it is fate, some of it is karma, some of it is just the way of the world. But getting my son to understand that faith, or lack of it, is a deeply personal thing that cannot be forced down someones throat in a church that they do not feel comfortable in, is a very difficult thing. I am not sure what I believe anymore. I do hope that there is an afterlife where I will find you and G once again. I hope that there is forgiveness and that my atonement and intentions account for something, but I dont think my faith is meant to be mediated by another person, its between me and my God. The strangest things move me. The purity of a voice singing, the beauty of a sunset, the love in the eyes of my child, small miracles that I witness from time to time, but I dont find them sitting in a chair in a McChurch, I just hope son can understand that and if he is able to find it there, I am happy for him, but its not for me.
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