"Death had a way of calling you up short."
...Is what my mother said to me today over lunch. We were talking about Claire and her dad. Mum's dad died when she was in her twenties, before she met my dad. She said today that at the time she remembers wishing it had been her mum who had died instead. I carried on eating my panini and didn't say anything for a while....
I'm not religious. I used to be (I got better. Ha! Boom boom....) but it was for the wrong reasons. I don't know what happens after you die, but I wouldn't insult anyone else's views on the matter. I'd tear apart people's use of religion as a way of alienating others or imposing inequalities or any of the other shit people's manipulation of religion has resulted in since year one; but when it comes down to your basics of religion - what happens to someone you love when they die - I'd never presume to challenge that.
Mum brought me up to believe in re-incarnation, though I don't think I ever did. My first experience of death (unless you count my pet woodlouse when I was 3) was when my nan (mum's mum) died when I was 6. I didn't really understand, I don't think. I just figured she was in heaven, and the same when my other nan died when I was 9. When Gramps died 7 years ago though, I totally fell apart. It was strange, I felt as though once he'd died he was somehow aware of things, like he was free floating in some ethereal plain(!). He'd never met my ex Steve (see alcoholic asshole with a nasty temper and a violent streak who asked me to marry him when I was 18 so I'd become a cashpoint - 'of course I'll give you the money back, I'm going to fucking marry you aren't I?') But suddenly once Gramps died I felt differently about the relationship, I felt as though suddenly Gramps knew, like he could see us.
A few days after Gramps died Steve and I had a fight cuz I didn't want him to come to the funeral. He was drunk and shouting, I can't even remember what, just the usual shit with a bit of extra spice thrown in. The cat was freaking out from the shouting and scratched me and Steve went mental, picked him up by the throat strangling him shouting in his face. Something in my head just snapped - and I thought how heartbroken Gramps would be if he knew what a mess I was stuck in. I grabbed the cat off him and walked away, and the whole time he followed me screaming and shouting all kinds of crap I just thought about Gramps, what he must be thinking to see me like that. Bless him, he knew the worst of it seeing as Nan used to beat him up and treat him like crap. That was when I knew - stood in the bathroom with a very scared cat cowering in my arms and Steve leaning too close screaming in my face - I was so calm and just knew I was leaving. He'd threatened to leave me 12 times in the 2 years, and I was so fucked up I begged him to stay. I never threatened it though, I just left. Three weeks later I moved back to Scotland, and 8 weeks after that I came back to Bristol and went to uni. Basically the beginning of my life as it is, as I wanted it. All because I felt that Gramps could see me once he'd died.
Yesterday Paul and I went to St Mary Redcliffe, my favourite church in the whole world. Dad used to take me there was I was little, not to services but just to look at it. Paul was off taking photos of the vaulted ceiling. I saw the votive candles by the mother's chapel and I'm not really sure why, but I put the money in the pot and lit one for Claire's dad. I've never done that before, despite the many many churches I've been in. I wrote in the prayer book too, more for her than him. I wrote 'Claire, your dad has died but isn't gone. An afterlife is not dependent on our belief in it. People are praying for him. Candles are burning.'
I don't know why I did that either, it's not even a prayer. It felt right though. Sometimes it's best to go on instinct.
I'm not religious. I used to be (I got better. Ha! Boom boom....) but it was for the wrong reasons. I don't know what happens after you die, but I wouldn't insult anyone else's views on the matter. I'd tear apart people's use of religion as a way of alienating others or imposing inequalities or any of the other shit people's manipulation of religion has resulted in since year one; but when it comes down to your basics of religion - what happens to someone you love when they die - I'd never presume to challenge that.
Mum brought me up to believe in re-incarnation, though I don't think I ever did. My first experience of death (unless you count my pet woodlouse when I was 3) was when my nan (mum's mum) died when I was 6. I didn't really understand, I don't think. I just figured she was in heaven, and the same when my other nan died when I was 9. When Gramps died 7 years ago though, I totally fell apart. It was strange, I felt as though once he'd died he was somehow aware of things, like he was free floating in some ethereal plain(!). He'd never met my ex Steve (see alcoholic asshole with a nasty temper and a violent streak who asked me to marry him when I was 18 so I'd become a cashpoint - 'of course I'll give you the money back, I'm going to fucking marry you aren't I?') But suddenly once Gramps died I felt differently about the relationship, I felt as though suddenly Gramps knew, like he could see us.
A few days after Gramps died Steve and I had a fight cuz I didn't want him to come to the funeral. He was drunk and shouting, I can't even remember what, just the usual shit with a bit of extra spice thrown in. The cat was freaking out from the shouting and scratched me and Steve went mental, picked him up by the throat strangling him shouting in his face. Something in my head just snapped - and I thought how heartbroken Gramps would be if he knew what a mess I was stuck in. I grabbed the cat off him and walked away, and the whole time he followed me screaming and shouting all kinds of crap I just thought about Gramps, what he must be thinking to see me like that. Bless him, he knew the worst of it seeing as Nan used to beat him up and treat him like crap. That was when I knew - stood in the bathroom with a very scared cat cowering in my arms and Steve leaning too close screaming in my face - I was so calm and just knew I was leaving. He'd threatened to leave me 12 times in the 2 years, and I was so fucked up I begged him to stay. I never threatened it though, I just left. Three weeks later I moved back to Scotland, and 8 weeks after that I came back to Bristol and went to uni. Basically the beginning of my life as it is, as I wanted it. All because I felt that Gramps could see me once he'd died.
Yesterday Paul and I went to St Mary Redcliffe, my favourite church in the whole world. Dad used to take me there was I was little, not to services but just to look at it. Paul was off taking photos of the vaulted ceiling. I saw the votive candles by the mother's chapel and I'm not really sure why, but I put the money in the pot and lit one for Claire's dad. I've never done that before, despite the many many churches I've been in. I wrote in the prayer book too, more for her than him. I wrote 'Claire, your dad has died but isn't gone. An afterlife is not dependent on our belief in it. People are praying for him. Candles are burning.'
I don't know why I did that either, it's not even a prayer. It felt right though. Sometimes it's best to go on instinct.