My Aunt — my mother’s sister, who has lived with them for the two and a half years since my grandfather passed — has been sick for the past week or so and was just diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer.
I mentioned that I was angry at a woman who said some pretty counter-productive things to my Aunt at the hospital yesterday. Then, a friend of mine on Facebook — I won’t name who. It doesn’t really matter. — mentioned that I wasn’t really mad at this woman; I was mad at God for taking my Aunt too soon. Just to get this out of the way, once and for all, this was my response:
I’m an atheist so, no, I’m not mad at “God” for “taking my Aunt way too soon.” I’m mad that cancer is such a fucking douchebag of a disease. I’m mad at the fact that there’s nothing that can be done except “making her comfortable.” I’m mad at the people who write off cancer as “God’s Will” when they have no idea what else to say, because any GOD who WILLS such a horrible fucking disease on a person who so devoutly worships him has got to be kind of an asshole. I’m mad at this woman who came to see my Aunt and told her how LUCKY she was and how much she ENVIED my Aunt that she would get to “meet Jesus soon.” I’m mad that my Aunt will do anything a complete stranger asks because they say “Jesus loves you,” but ignores and fights me when I say “I love you.” I’m mad at my Aunt for believing that because she has cancer she’s going to die tomorrow when she could still live and enjoy life for several more months or years if she fought for it. I’m mad at the fact that I can’t get her to eat or drink anything, even though she’s weak and dehydrated because she HASN’T been eating or drinking, and fights me at every spoonful because she’s basically given up. I’m mad at the fact that I go in there every day, from nine o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock at night, to try and take care of her, feed her, talk to her, read to her, that I am strong for ten to twelve hours a day because she needs me to be strong, neglecting my own health and well-being, and then I go home every night so weary and frustrated and there’s no one to care for me when I fall apart. I’m mad at the fact that I have to hide all of my emotions while I’m there to take care of everyone else and have nowhere to direct any of that stress and anger and sadness when I get home. I’m mad that I’m generally pretty private about my atheism but the one time I say that I’m sick of hearing about “God’s Will” and “Jesus’s love,” people want to cram “God’s Will” and “Jesus’s love” down my throat. I’m sure there a few other things that I’m mad at that I just can’t think of at the moment. But, no, I’m not mad at “God.”