Entry 31: Funeral

After our text exchange, my sister went radio silent. She didn't care how I was coping, as I dealt with the feelings of grief on my own. I knew she was punishing me, but this time it felt especially cruel. I didn't know what the right thing to do was in this situation, as I found myself torn between the religion and love for my father. He'd loved the church more than anything else, and it had provided him a sense of community and purpose. If I didn't attend, would people think that I hadn't loved my dad enough, even my sister? After going back and forth for days, I decided I'd attend. I let my sister know by text, to which she replied, "You don't know how happy I am to hear that—you just brought tears to my eyes."

I'd felt anxious the whole week leading up to Dad's funeral, and the day it arrived I could feel my own body vibrating. The church had been my cage for 30 years, one I'd escaped, and now here I was entering it again. As soon as I arrived, I was led by one of the members to the back room where my sister, her husband, and my stepfamily were. I'd already had a negative interaction, as one of my sister's close friends looked over and gave me a dirty look, as I mouthed "hi" and gave them a small wave. They'd completely turned their back on their own daughter, who'd turned to alcohol and prescription drugs for comfort, so this hadn't come as a surprise.

Even though I'd shown up, there was still an iciness from my sister, as I sat down next to her. As for my stepmother, she continued to play the part of grieving widow. We'd exchanged pleasantries when I'd first entered, but after that, there'd been nothing more to say.

After being away for 10 years, little had changed, other than no one carried physical bibles anymore, but iPads holding scriptures and hymns. As for the service itself, it was still the same cut & paste format, with a few details of Dad's life laid out in the beginning, a few loving quotes from family members, and then countless scriptures as they explained the church's beliefs, which took up the majority of time. Even more than providing comfort to members, this part was used to attract the attention of non-believers within the audience, with the hopes that they might be interested in becoming a member themselves.

Turning one's back on the church was considered the ultimate betrayal. Yet, instead of cowering the moment I entered through those church doors, I suddenly felt empowered. I reminded myself that I was an accomplished young woman, and not a reflection of the tragic stories told from the podium of those that had left. I wasn't a mess like people had imagined. Instead, I had a career, my own place and good friends. I dressed well, spoke well, and past the sadness of losing Dad, I was happy.

After the service was done, members formed a long line to give their condolences. "I'm sorry for your loss," they said, some of them pulling me in for a hug. To which I smiled and said, "thank you." Most were pleasant, a few judgey, but overall it had gone well. I'd also been greeted by a few of my close friends while part of the church, as they made small talk, while ending their conversation with the words, "We miss you." One friend, who'd married a man she'd never really loved, had seemed especially fascinated by my life. Where did I live? What was I doing for work? Who was I dating? I wanted to tell her that she too could escape if she wanted, no matter how impossible it seemed, but decided it wasn't the time or place to have this kind of conversation.

After the line had dissipated, it was time for us all to leave. My sister had arranged to have people over to her house after the funeral, asking if I wanted to come over as well, but I declined. This wasn't my community anymore, and I didn't want to be cornered by those wishing for me to return to the religion. The last time that happened, I'd run into a leader at a lounge downtown with my sister. He was celebrating a lucrative business deal he'd just made, and was visibly drunk. My sister had willingly left me with him, in hopes he'd talk some sense into me, but him slurring his words while talking about God had been especially off putting.

On the other side, was my stepmother and her family, who were also having people over, but this one was to be an over-the-top spectacle, with it more a celebration of freedom and wealth, than a celebration of life. My chef stepbrother had prepared trays of delectable appetizers and high-end seafood dishes, paired with the most expensive wine, no doubt paid for with my stepmother's now large inheritance, while my sister and I had received nothing.

As I hugged my sister goodbye and walked out those church doors, a wave of calm came over me, and with it an epiphany. I didn't consider myself superior to these church members, but I did consider myself fortunate. I wasn't the same person. I'd grown so much since escaping this black and white world, and I'd experienced so much. I didn't have friends who told me they missed me, and then did nothing about it. No, I had true friends who loved and cared about me, and weren't going to turn their backs if we didn't believe the exact same thing. I'd made some mistakes, yes, but falling down and rising up was all part of life's journey, and within those lessons sprouted personal growth, understanding and most importantly empathy. I would no longer let anyone tear me down, and I would no longer let others make me feel inferior and less deserving of happiness. No, entering those doors once again, was exactly what I needed to close this religious chapter for good, and from this point on, I would only look forward.