So earlier on, I talked about how I thought it would be easier to grieve if I had a God to believe in, a knowledge of something more. Well, I read the blog of a classmate I seldom talk to because I’m a creep (I’m a weirdo, what the hell am I doing here) and she’s pretty devoutly Christian, and she’s got a family member with cancer right now, too. But the way she described it, it almost sounded worse. She said that a part of her thought that if she had prayed harder, more, her step-father wouldn’t have gotten cancer, or his treatments would have worked by now.
I cannot imagine feeling that kind of guilt. One time, I left my shoes out and my mum tripped on them and she sprained her wrist, and I felt guilty about that for years. I only stopped feeling guilty when she broke her ankle and it wasn’t my fault. But to feel that you could have stopped a loved one from getting cancer… I don’t think I could handle that.
So anyways, that realization has made me feel less like a martyr. Like my atheism was a burden with which I was suffering to do the right thing, and believe what my heart tells me. Now, it’s just that I’m doing what my heart tells me, which is as much as a burden as everyone else has.