An Event that Changed My Life
As a young child, I was fascinated by the idea of religion: we were read Biblical stories and sang hymns at school, and my parents encouraged me to attend the local Girl Guides organization from a very young age which, again, exposed me to Christian teachings. In truth, I had always been an unusually cynical child and concepts such as Father Christmas and the tooth fairy became quickly apparent as nonsense to me. I suppose it is fair to say that I was an inquisitive child and that is probably why I always did reasonably well at school; I wanted to know how and why things were rather than just what they were. On reflection, it seemed likely that I would struggle to become a religious adult in a world which seems too readily available to give evidence to the contrary of a divine being.
I’ll always remember that first morning clearly: I had woken up early on a Sunday morning, as young children are prone to do, and seeing the light on under the door to my parents’ room, I went in to say hello. They were both sat up in bed and Mum’s eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying. I was too young to make that association then but now, it seems obvious. That said, I could feel the tension and like something unalterable had happened in the space of time between my going to bed and my waking up. My Mum helped me up on to the bed and she held my hand and smiled, as best she could, and told me: my beloved Nan had died during the night. I can remember not immediately comprehending what she had said but at seven years old, I was old enough to know what she meant – to know that I would never see my Nan again. My brother, at four years old, was not old enough to properly understand and I can remember feeling cross that he did not seem sadder. I think it really hit home for me when we were at my Granddad’s house later and I went to the front door with my Dad; we opened it for my Uncle who was just arriving and was really crying as he walked up to the door. I have never seen him crying at any other time and he was always so full of smiles and jokes that it jarred with my expectations of him and I realized just how serious it all was.
For me, the initial shock was palpable: I was more concerned that my ‘mummy’ was crying a lot and then to see everyone else so upset too just made me feel worse. I can remember thinking I’d need to be brave for everyone. Some months afterwards, I have a strong memory of being in my Aunt’s kitchen with her and Mum and trying to hold in the tears and being told that if I want to cry then I should because there’s nothing wrong with that and I should always let it out, something which has stayed with me into adulthood. I cried a lot at that time and I saw a lot of tears from the people who meant the most to me.
As the months passed, my anger grew: my Nan had only been in her sixties, she wasn’t that old and she was lovely – the loveliest, in fact. How is it fair that she should die when there are still murderers in the world? I can remember being hyper sensitive to any vague mention of death: watching the television became hugely problematic because I’d see references to death in songs and in programs, I’d feel resentful to any children walking with their Nan, I argued with friends at school over the slightest thing. My anger grew to such a point that I began to question why and how she had died, why she had to go. I suppose it might have been one too many people telling me that it had been ‘God’s plan’ for her that prompted me to start questioning the existence of God. I stopped believing altogether. I felt bitterly towards God: how dare he take my Nanny when there were so many more people who deserved to die in the world? I stopped being interested in any religious activity in and out of school and I can remember getting in trouble for not bowing my head for prayer in assembly time. I bowed my head in future but I refused to put my hands together and I never said amen with everyone else.
The older I get, the more I realize that my atheist stance is one I’m proud of and there have been an increasingly long list of reasons as to why I feel that way. However, I will never forget that day my Nan died and my belief structure began to crumble around me. I still miss my Nan now and my three other grandparents who largely died in quite quick succession after her – something which furthered my anti-religion feeling. I am still a staunch atheist now and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
