Faith ... and the way we treat the bereaved

I’ve been raised in a Westernised, and therefore, Christian-based, culture. I was baptised in a Church of England church. I was married in that church. My eldest daughter was baptised there and, as we'd moved to a different town, my son was baptised in a different church but into the same faith. However, I never believed. I’ve had periods of my life where I’ve tried to believe in the existence of God. I’ve looked at other religions in the hope that maybe I’d just been given the wrong one and if I could just find the right one, I’d somehow ‘know’ and would be able to believe and accept this ‘Higher Presence’. I envy others who have that faith. Despite my efforts, I haven’t found it yet.

For reasons other than faith, I was married and the kids were baptised in Church. Our parents expected it – indeed, there was an expectation that I would be married there and nowhere else – and anyway, it was traditional. And OK, it would look nice on the photos. I look back and think what a shame that was. I think for those who genuinely believe, it must be painful to see people like me simply going through the motions for the sake of tradition and pretty pictures. By the time I my third child was born, I had a naming ceremony in our home. I still wanted to give her the ceremonial introduction to family and friends but without any of my former hypocritical promises that I’d never intended keeping anyway.

As far as death goes, I think modern Westernised culture (which is pretty much rooted in Christianity) has it wrong. We’re scared of death - so it’s hidden away and avoided – like some dirty little secret we mustn’t discuss. My Muslim colleague  was shocked when I told her how my neighbour  thanked me for a casserole I made just after his wife died 20 years ago – I hadn’t known what to do so I cooked as I thought that they probably weren’t thinking much about eating. My colleague told me that when someone within her culture is bereaved, you visit immediately, "and you take food because the family will be in too much shock to think about feeding themselves - and it’s our job to look after them - it’s their job to grieve.” Her faith and surrounding culture guides her to look after those who are grieving.

I’ve noticed the acceptance of the loud outpourings of grief in other cultures but until recently, always found it a little distasteful. My westernised upbringing had lead me to think, “All that drama - you’d think they’d have a bit of dignity.” After my boy died, I clung to my dignity. It was all I had. My Mother has repeatedly said, “You never cried at his funeral – I did – I loved that boy,” as if I didn’t care. Her tone is accusatory and, to be honest, I want to punch her square in the face when she says it. The truth was that I couldn’t allow it. I had to make it as perfect as possible for him – for his memory. My grief was unimportant to me right then. Getting it right for him was everything. Maybe I should have sobbed and wailed loudly – although I don’t think I knew how to do that – still don’t. But at least others would have seen it and gained some understanding. Or perhaps, they would do as I did when watching some news item and seeing the outpourings of grief following an earthquake in the third world - “Oh puhlease - have a little dignity.” My experience of the culture in which I exist, is that people would rather cross the road than acknowledge grief.

A recent experience with another colleague has left me reeling and with a pretty sour taste in my mouth – if that’s religion, you can keep it! We visited her Church (just so I could measure up to make some tablecloths for them). We (my youngest and me) joined the service – it was the polite thing to do after all – it was all very happy-clappy. To me it bordered on the manic and I found it a little unsettling but I was OK with joining in at the appropriate points. The singer started speaking in the middle of a song. She said (in between thanking Jesus profusely and telling Him she loved Him and punching the air) that “if you love Jesus, you will live a long life.” Everyone was punching the air and agreeing with her.

I was horrified. I kept thinking, ‘So these people think that Al died either because he didn’t believe, or because I never raised him to believe. Either Al or me is responsible for his early death.’ I spoke to my colleague’s husband as we left and told him of my concern. His response was, “Hmm yes that’s a difficult one.” He didn’t elaborate but made his excuses and walked away.

My colleague emailed me to say she wondered if it was too soon after Al’s death for me to have gone to her Church. I repeated my question to her. She didn’t reply.

When at work, I approached her to discuss it and was told that it wasn’t a subject to be discussed there and we should talk about it perhaps when we met out of work for coffee. Except we never have since then. She’s suddenly a very busy person. That leads me to think that she believes my lack of belief somehow didn’t create the protection for him – and that therefore, I am to blame for him dying - so it’s my own fault anyway.

Does this mean that she has the sheer arrogance to think that her belief keeps her loved ones alive? Is it faith, or fear of not believing that she thinks stops them from dying? I sometimes wonder whether that would change if she lost one of hers and then I berate myself for even thinking such a thing because I wouldn’t wish this loss on anyone – I just wish others could find it in their hearts to have a little more compassion and understanding. But then why would they? Maybe, when I speak of my boy, they’re just thinking, as I once did, “Oh puhlease – have a little dignity.”

Having said that, until I became this new person – the bereaved mother – I was insensitive, stupid, and clueless too.