Adrian was cremated, but it was important to me that he also have a funeral. I wanted to honor him and his short but powerful life.
I don’t know where my son is now. I don’t know if we’ll meet again, or if he’s at peace. I know that I miss him with a passion I can’t put into words. I know I would have given anything, including my own life, to guarantee him life on earth. I STILL don’t believe in God.
One day, someday, I will die. I don’t know what will happen then, and that’s okay with me. I don’t need confirmation or thoughts of reunification. I don’t want to be told my son waits for me in the afterlife.
I think it would be so much easier if I believed as other people believed. It would be so much easier if I could close my eyes and know with certainty that you were listening when I said your name. It would be so nice. But it’s not real.
So many people talk about God’s plan, say that they are comforted because their child is with God, because their loss must be part of some greater meaning. It just feels like a cop out to me.
As a non-believer throughout my life, I wondered if losing my child would challenged any of my spiritual feelings and beliefs. It didn’t. I held a secular funeral for my child, and even as a bereaved mother, I am comfortable with my non-religious beliefs.
I know what you want to talk about. I know how it pains you when others try to chase your words away. It isn’t a question of guilt. It’s fact — if you had chosen to listen, I would be alive.
I don’t find comfort in the thought of a higher power. It doesn’t do anything for me. But I do find comfort in the fact that other people have also been broken…and they survived it. Which brings me to Akhilandeshvari, goddess of never not being broken.