My childhood religion was faith-based. Church twice a week. Daily Bible study. A loving God.
Disease was denied. No medicine, hospitals, doctors. Alcohol and drugs were forbidden.
My world changed when my parents divorced.
Trading the blind faith of religion for first-hand life experiences with various substances was absolute freedom. I didn’t doubt God’s existence; I just forgot Him.
After a quarter-century, the experiment failed. Plunged into the darkness of addiction, I sought God again.
Something bigger than me has kept me sober for two decades. And until recently, my resentment toward religion had evaporated into the ether.
Respecting my mother’s denial of Alzheimer’s isn’t easy. She may forget people, or that she’s moved across country, but she hasn’t forgotten God.
The Universe has a sick sense of humor. We’re now attending her new church together and her joy slowly outweighs my antipathy.
