Lacie

[as a response to witnessing her parents both violently fade to dementia.]

No. You’d be surprised how much this is not more than I asked for. I have similar conversations almost on a daily basis. And seek them out.

I don’t have any answers. And I know you’re not asking for any. Probably much the opposite. But I have suspicion that everyone goes through hell here. Of some sort. Even Jesus did. And somehow belief frames these experiences in a way that holds tenderly, if not with wrath.

One of my closest friends. Someone whom I consider a spiritual guide, and as close to a prophet as I’ve ever experienced, was telling me on the phone the other day how viciously angry at God he gets. He was yelling. On the phone. As he does sometimes. Not at me, just because that’s what the subject warranted. And he told me, “Fuck God. He can suck my big fat cock!”

What do I say? I was shocked. Not really at the vulgarity, that’s old hat. But at the irreverence, yeah. I’m not used to that — from a voracious believer, anyway. He repeated himself a few times. Deep voice cracking. At top volume. “FUCK GOD. HE CAN SUCK MY BIG FAT COCK!”

And then I found it incredibly touching. Really deeply moving. Insanely honest. And I have another suspicion. That if there is God, whatever, whomever that means, that He wants to hear from us exactly that much. That She wants to know our hearts and pain in the truest way. That my friend was actually expressing something Holy. Powerfully honest. As are you.

Yes, Lacie. Today maybe God can suck your big fat cock. And maybe tomorrow. And surely next Sunday. But I don’t think that makes your parents’ lives any less valuable, or your pain any less relevant.

I don’t know if there is a God. I consider myself pretty painfully agnostic much of the time. But I practice belief. And I love watching other people worship. It’s comforting to me.

For now, Lacie, rage on like Job.