I have never felt so far removed from the idea of spirituality as I have since the passing of my father. As a child I was forced to go to church, literally flogged if there was any hint of objection, and whenever I attended Sunday school I had many questions about the scripture, much to the chagrin of the poor Sunday School teacher. Fast forward to my adult years where as a black woman I began to research my heritage. I learned about people and places that never made it to the history books, and when you consider the role Christianity played throughout black history and culture...it makes you question a couple things. Or at least it should.
So, I began to identify as someone who was spiritual. That's because calling myself spiritual was easier for people to swallow than saying I wasn't religious. Also, I grew up in a beautiful home with 2 loving parents, I attended the best schools and in an attempt to sound well rounded and grateful (to whoever) I claimed spirituality. I owned that for a while.
And then one day I became acutely aware of the atrocities in the world and all of a sudden my rosy upbringing didn't matter. I removed my own circumstances from the picture and I began to consider (for example)... The way in Jamaica we praise a God who spares our island during hurricane season but pummels our neighbours in Haiti.
Being a christian however means that one must ignore these circumstances and exist in a perpetual state of blissful narcissism. But I get it, it's a cold world and religion is a warm blanket of mechanisms in which to cope.
Not so long ago I had a conversation with my father. I asked him if he believed in God. He said yes. We were in the dining room sitting at the dining table and I remember being surprised at his answer. That's because daddy was never too keen on going to church, he would go 3 times a year; mother's day, fathers' day and Christmas. I can't remember what triggered the question but this was normal for daddy and I. Random conversations about society, religion, politics, books, TV shows. (we really were the best of friends) Daddy believed in God and that was reassuring to me for some reason. As for myself I'm not sure what I believe in but I know what I feel now, which is nothing. There is a void that has been left in my soul. One day he was here, we spoke, we hugged, we said our I love yous and the next day he was gone. No more emails or phone calls, no more words of encouragement, no more planning for a future that involved him.
I never felt his presence after May 12, 2017. I suppose I should have been able to feel him but I haven't had that feeling of being protected or watched over or the feeling of a presence walking through his room or in the house. I never felt like he was trying to communicate with me in my dreams. It was immediate and final and he was gone and all communication stopped forever.
This has taught me that that there are no spirits.. Therefore no spirituality. We're here and then we're not.
Daddy always said there are two certainties in life; death and taxes. We aren't promised an easy or convenient life, there will be happiness and sadness, life and death. And for those of us left to deal with the loss of a loved one, our life goes on.
I was lucky, I had 33 years with the greatest mentor anyone could ask for and that man was my father.
The person I loved the most in the world transitioned peacefully in his sleep...the way he always said he wanted to go. Death is a fate certain to every living thing and it is my hope for the sake of our loved ones (and ourselves) that the transition is peaceful after a full, fearless and robust life.
