Grieving without illusions

How does one grieve if the person does not subscribe to any religion or a belief in a God? How does one make meaningful sense of the tragic loss of a relative without pandering to ancient myths and misconceptions?

Simply put, how does one thoughtfully come to terms with the pain and sorrow of losing a loved one without clutching some supernatural and superstitious mumbo jumbo?

These questions have agitated my mind for some time. The agitation has become intense following the death of my father.

Growing up in an intensely religious environment, I grappled with these propositions because I knew that one day I would come face to face with grief and bereavement. Until the passing away of my father in April, questions about death and bereavement have been more of an academic exercise.

But now they are no longer so. Death has hit so hard, and so close. Right now, I am mourning. I am grieving in a way that has never been the case.

 I introspect, and reflect on death and dying. In the event of death, many people use religious and supernatural narratives to make sense of their grief or to console the bereaved.

The religious way of grieving is predicated on the premise that the dead are in a better place; the dead have gone to heaven or paradise where is no suffering or pain.

 Religions teach people to believe that the dead are not dead; that the dead have transited into another realm of eternal bliss where they would live and rejoice forever.

I find those mistaken assumptions about death and the dead unhelpful. It is said that one should not talk ill about the dead.

Right? So one should not say what is blatantly untrue, or what is not based on fact about the dead or dying in the name of mourning. Why should people lie to one’s face or lie to the face of the dead because one is mourning or grieving? Some would say:

“But these are narratives to help those who are grieving cope with a tragic situation and get closure”. That is understood. But my question is: Why not use propositions that are informed by facts and sound reasoning?

In my case, my father is dead. He is no more. That is the fact. That is reality. His body will decompose and supply nutrients to other life forms. My father came from nature, and to mother nature, he has returned. We all who are alive will go the same way at some point. I do not intend to meet my father or any other dead friend or relative any time anywhere again.

No, no. I do not nurse such aspirations. My father lives on, not in any extraterrestrial heavenly realm. He lives on in my memory and in the memories of those who knew him. He lives in the minds of family members, former students and colleagues, and others who met and encountered him while he was alive. My father lives on in the genes that he passed on to his children, and in so many ways that he impacted my and other lives.

I draw strength from fond memories of him, memories of the good and bad times that we shared, memories of our agreements and disagreements, memories of his trials and tribulations, successes and failures, perfections and imperfections.

As I grieve, I am comforted by these thoughts and reminiscences. They provide me with more meaningful ways of coming to terms with his demise than the comforting myths that religions and other supernatural enterprises peddle.

Religion helps many to grieve and mourn the dead. Religion enables some people to make sense of their mortality. But as a humanist, the religious idea of life, death, and mortality does not hold. Its transcendental pretensions have little or no appeal. The humanist way of mourning offers an enriching alternative. One grieves without illusions, and superstitions about death.

Leo Igwe,             

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