First, if you are sensitive about your faith or beliefs, you may want to give this particular instalment a miss. I haven't very nice things to say about God.
This is a question I haven't asked many widows or widowers whom I've met, but I've always wanted to ask. How did the death of your spouse affect your faith? I understand it's a very personal question, probably the reason I haven't asked. If we are raised Christian, there are very definite beliefs about death and the afterlife. We are taught that, if we are good and faithful, our loved ones go to Heaven and "wait" for us there until we are reunited when we die, to join them in some perfect place for eternity. I found little comfort in this. Instead, Chris and I adopted the pagan belief of the Summerland. It just felt nicer than Heaven; far less judgemental.
For me, it was a long journey in losing my religion. I am an American by birth and was raised in a very liberal, Episcopal family. Church was part of life. Fortunately, being part of a love-based, liberal denomination meant that I was never frightened by my faith. I was encouraged to ask questions, to delve deeper. And I did. I once confounded my minister by asking him the question, "If Christ had to be betrayed in order to fulfil the prophecy of the Old Testament, did Judas act of free will or was he chosen to be the one to betray Christ and thus fulfil the promise of God the Father?" After much hemming and hawing, my dear now-departed minister said, "I think his sin was in taking the money." We left it at that. As I grew up, I participated in church as a lay reader, a member of the Altar Guild, a Sunday school teacher.
Once I moved to the UK, I found myself becoming less and less enthusiastic about attending church. There were no churches that had the energy and community I was used to. They were either on the evangelical side (I was more of a high church kind of gal) or everyone in the congregation was - as they say - waiting for God. And the more time I spent in the beautiful wilds of Scotland, the more I realised that my faith could be found in trees, and flowers, and birds - the natural and living world fed me spiritually in a way that Christianity never had. It made it easier to completely deny any belief in Christianity when Chris was dying.
I simply couldn't find a way to believe in the benevolent God I had been told about and understand why one of the kindest, most genuine people I had ever known was being subjected to pain and death. As I said to someone at the time, "Horrible people live and continue in their treacherous and lying ways and Chris is dying. There is no God. Period. End of discussion." I found a conversation that mirrored my own internal conversation when actor/writer/all round intellectual good guy Stephen Fry was being interviewed by Irish journalist Gay Byrne.
Gay Byrne: ...suppose it's all true and you walk up to the pearly gates and you are confronted by God. What would Stephen Fry say to him, her or it?
Stephen Fry: ...I'll say, "Bone cancer in children? What's that about? How dare you! How dare you create a world where there is such misery that is not our fault! It's not right. It is utterly, utterly evil. Why should I respect a capricious, mean-minded, stupid god who creates a world that is so full of injustice and pain." That's what I'd say.
Gay Byrne: And you think you're going to get in?
Stephen Fry: Oh, I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't want to get in on his terms.
Several years ago, I got up the nerve to ask my dearest and oldest friend, the daughter of my very devout godmother, if she still believed in God after losing her husband to cancer over 20 years ago. There was a moment of silence, and then the voice, sad but somehow relieved, said, "No." I may well be the only person she ever shared that with. That darling friend died two years ago at the age of 64 of natural causes. I don't believe natural causes were the reason for her premature death at all...she died of a broken heart and of the broken promises of her once vibrant faith.
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The photograph I've included with this blog is one of my favourites, and one that was, in a way, foreboding. As do many others, I am often finding feathers in unexpected places. I believe that this is Chris communicating with me, letting me know he is still with me. Chris loved photographing feathers - this is one of his best.
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