I found my blog password!

I may not be the Atheist I think I am

Two years ago I started a charity. I did this because my wife and I felt like there was a sense of community we were missing out on, a community normally associated with religion. We're Atheists, and we know a lot of other like minded folks, so we considered starting something along the lines of a church congregation for those people who wouldn't be caught dead in a place of worship. 

We called it The Congregation of Every 1.

Quickly the original intent of this shifted to charity work. The charity work we began was directed at the massive homeless population within the city of Detroit. Once we did this, several of our friends and acquaintances stepped up to help out. The irony? Those people who stepped up to help were Christians. Catholics, Evangelicals, Methodists and others. We resided ourselves to the fact that the Congregation of Every 1 would be just that, a congregation of every denomination or no denomination. We started calling it "a non religious charity organization", I emphasized the fact that the founders were Atheist. We held fast to the concept that our charity would not have "a location", our overhead would be negligible and we were all doing this because we wanted to help other people and NOT for any spiritual reward.

The charity grew. Exponentially. We started making and delivering our Survival Packs for the homeless monthly. We were in non-stop charity drive mode, always soliciting donations, always collecting. Our basement became a warehouse and the location of our "packing parties". We gained our 501c3 rating from the IRS. It became a huge part of our family's lives. 

The four core delivery team members were solidified (along with some rotating members) and we would go out monthly or bi-monthly to seek out the truly homeless wherever they were inside the massive city boundaries of Detroit and give them Survival Packs. We also started taking on the occasional additional efforts, animal rescues, victims of domestic violence shelters, the VA hospital, children homeless shelters, diaper drives, fresh water drives, we were and are constantly trying to help those in need. 

We've come into contact with literally thousands of homeless Americans and countless other people through our efforts. We even started helping some churches with their homeless projects. I've made some friends with pastors and community organizers. I've kept an open mind. Throughout our efforts, I am often told, "Bless you!" I get a lot of, "you're doing God's work" and many, many other positive, supportive thank you type remarks that revolve around Christianity being the cause for my charitable efforts While the Christian members of our group smile and say thank you, I often have to bite my tongue. I appreciate their remarks, I just don't agree with them. I do this because I want to, it literally has nothing to do with God.

I have faith. Faith in Atheism. Faith in reality. Faith in people. Faith in scientific discovery. I do not have any spiritual or religious faith though. I simply cannot, it is not within me. I've come to believe that the same absolute internal knowing that there is no higher power is how others must feel about their faith in God. I just feel it in my bones, there is no God; I don't even need to be able to explain it, which must be exactly how the religiously faithful on the other end of this spectrum feel as well.

That brings me to reason I'm writing this, another compliment/remark/well intentioned condescending lecture I often get is "God is working through you, even if you don't believe it". 

I've heard that enough that I've actually thought about it a lot. The concept that the charity work I now feel compelled to do, that feeling that compels me, THAT, is that "God"? Don't get me wrong, I DO NOT BELIEVE IN GOD, I do not believe there is an omnipotent immortal being that created all things and continues to direct every individuals life and will reward or punish us once we die. I still think that's crazy-for-CoCo-Puffs talk; BUT is it possible that the feeling I'm feeling, is that what some people feel and assign to God? Is that what some religious people are talking about? When they say they've "found God" is it this same feeling compelling them to behave or act in a manner that they can somehow connect or reconcile to a specific religious dogma? 

With that in mind, is this sudden attraction to my charity work my "calling"? If it is, does it have to be associated to any spiritual or super natural entity? I don't believe it does, I still feel like it's simply rewarding work that I enjoy doing but I am willing to concede that my feelings and actions may be the same feelings and actions that others assign to believing in God. So...that means that I can conceive of an explanation that includes admitting this thing that is driving me to carry out this charity work, is called "God" by many religious people.  

So do I believe in God?

I do not believe in religion. I do not believe in Churches or Mosques or Synagogues or Temples. I do not believe in Jesus or Allah or Yahweh or Shiva. I do not believe in Heaven or Hell or even Karma.

But do I believe in God?

I can now say for certain, I have no idea. 

Namaste ;) 

The Hocking Block

When my mom left, I was about 8 years old. That would have made her around 25

When my mom left, she stopped raising me.

She worked at the local Farmer Jack. 

She met a young man who worked there as well, he was 18 years old.

I am 44 years old now.

This summer, that young man died. 

He had spent the majority of these last 36 years with my mother and his alcoholism.

They have a 20 year old daughter together, my half sister. 

He divorced my mom about 2 years ago. He wasn't nice about it.

Amazingly, to his parents disappointment, his alcoholism continued on after the marriage ended. They were sure he only drank because of my mom. They were wrong.
My mom didn't want the divorce and hasn't handled it well at all.
At 62 she's basically still a kid who needs constant help with everything , won't ask for help until it's too late and then instantly resents having accept it.

This summer I was sitting at Bran's Steak House with my cousin Mike and my good friend Tom around 9:30 PM when I got a text from my wife. 

"Jeff you need to call you mom NOW. It's Pete"

The moment I read the text, my stomach dropped.

I called my wife, not my mom. My wife told me the news.

My drunken ex-step dad was found dead in his bathroom by a friend.

We'd come to find out later it was a combination of 5 prescription drugs plus a huge amount of alcohol. We'll never know if it was intentional or not.

He was 54 years old. 

The last 5 moths have been me dealing with lawyers and my mother and problems that come about when a man dies with no will, no instructions and 20 year old girl as his sole heir. 

We've been fighting his parents who thought THEY should be the executors of his estate and thought they should be his heir. 

It's cost money and time I don't have.

It's caused stress and tension I don't want.

It's all for a woman and her daughter who don't really like me very much.
It now the holidays.
My mom and half sister are around more now.
It all seems forced. She needs me, but doesn't like it.
I know I have to do what's right, even though it will most likely end badly. Again.
I don't have unlimited money. I can't get unlimited ulcers. I don't have much left in the empathy tank.

It's hard to get all of this from a stone, a cold, emotionless, dumb stone who should know better.

The Freedom of a False Knot

I like to start off every blog entry by saying something along the lines of, "it's been forever since I've written on here", basically because it's always been forever since I've written on here.

So much has gone on since the last time I took the time to sit down and write.

The most ridiculous yet perfectly expected event that happened is that my mother is no longer speaking to myself or my family. I guess you could say we're not speaking to her either, but it doesn't really matter, the point is we've broken ties.

Over the last decade or so my wife has been the driving force that has maintained amy relationship with my mom and half sister. It could be because my wife lost her own mother to ovarian cancer about 8 years ago, but most likely its because she was raised like most humans were raised, to believe that there's an innate bond between a mother and child.

My mom and I have never had that bond.

To say I am the antithesis of a momma's boy would be an understatement. I so dislike my own mother that it has seeped into every female relationship I've ever had and tainted it with hues of distrust and resentment. I am not one to put a woman on a pedestal, if she'd like to stand next to me, that would fine, but no special treatment simply because of our chromosome differences.

Over the course of the last 10 years or so my wife has tried her best to include my mom and sister in our lives, to make them feel like we're a family. My mom has done so less than enthusiastically, but as its been pointed out, she had made tremendous progress. All the while, my mom was going through a prolonged and emotionally torturous separation and ultimate divorce with my sadly, comically, stereotypically drunken step-father.

During this ridiculous ballet of leaving/not-leaving/leaving/I hate you/We're staying together/we're not staying to together my mother suffered an insanely unexpected health event.

One weekend while her husband was away up north at their cabin,  I was called to my mom's house because she had been lying on the couch in pain all day and my sister thought she was sick and needed to be taken to see a doctor. My mom is not old and not sickly, she's barely 63 years old I write this. When I arrived at their house my mom was doubled over on her couch. She couldn't move and her stomach was killing her. She could only speak enough to tell me all she needed was some milk-of-magnesea. It was clear she needed more than that. I ended up carrying her against her will to my car, lying to her that we were only going to an urgent care facility (it was 7:30 PM on a Friday night). I took her directly to the Emergency Room.

My mom wasn't happy with me. She wasn't happy with the admitting nurse who guessed it was appendicitis. She wasn't happy with the ER doctor who explained, after X-rays, that she had suffered from a perforated diaphragm. She wasn't happy with the surgeon who told her it may be that she had suffered from undiagnosed colon cancer and this was a tumor causing the pain. At 2 AM, after being admitted, my step-father showed up, he had driven all the way down from Alpena. It was soon after that arrival, that the aneurysm on the artery that fed blood to my mom's spleen that everyone had missed that had been slowly leaking for over a week, burst. She bled out internally.

Luckily this happened IN the hospital. Emergency surgery saved her but not her spleen and not half of her pancreas. She lived. During surgery they damaged some nerves in her arm somehow. She would survive the bleeding out but not without losing the use of one of her arms and hands.

Once all of the drama of my moms ordeal and new life situation calmed down, my step-father finally did divorce her, like a true gentleman.

My wife and I, but mainly my wife, stuck by mom throughout the divorce. She was on the phone every day with her, helping her, giving her support, listening to her.

We helped her find a new house. We helped her move. We did everything we could emotionally, financially and physically to help her during this transition and the whole time we were busting our asses to make sure she knew we all loved her and were there for her, all she did was complain and act as though she had no one. Which was ok, we knew this was a difficult time for her.

It never ended though.

Finally, last thanksgiving, at our house, with her, my sister, my cousin, my brother and my brood of 6 all gathered together as a family, my mom's incessant negativity and emotional blackholeness (that's mots likely not a word) became too much to bear.

My wife, alone with my mom and sister in the kitchen, unfortunately addressed the fact that no matter how much we give, how much we help, how much we do for them both, they give nothing back. This was an emotionally one sided relationship. This upset my fragile spoiled 18 year old sister and that in turn upset my mom. When I noticed that my wife was in tears and my mom had that indignant look on her face, I saw no other option.

I walked into the kitchen, told my mom and sister they were two of the most negative people I've ever met and I threw them out of my house. My mom tried to tell me I didn't understand what was going on and I clearly told her I did not care. Goodbye.

That was 4 months ago.

We didn't have Christmas together. She didn't come over for any of the kids birthdays that have happened since. We're done. We're done according to me at least.

This isn't like some huge maternal umbilical cord had finally been cut, it's as if the false one my wife had been desperately trying to tie to my mom and I had finally lost it's knot. It was always a slip knot anyway.

Oh Yea I've nothing to Say

I haven't written in a long time. I feel like I start a lot of these stories like that, it's some sort of an excuse I tell myself, or an apology I issue myself, or it's the ice breaker at the party that is my depression journal.

The highlights, my mom is divorced and miserably living in a co-op retirement community about 5 miles away from us. We don't see her any more often then when she was living 20 miles away in a miserable marriage she hated being in. The moral here is, she hates being in things, I just hope the hate doesn't spill into our house since she's so much closer now, I don't know the contamination radius of hate, I should look it up.

I ran into my dad over the summer, shared a table with him and some new woman he brought to my cousin's high school graduation party. It was odd. Afterwards I felt nothing, I didn't want to know him, I didn't want to reconnect. It was the first time that has happened. He's never met my youngest kids before, and although he was cordial, he didn't make a big deal about meeting them.

Aside from that, I'm depressed. Oh yea, I'm also depressed.

If the Devil is in the details, then I don't have to worry about the Devil

I don't remember where I was coming from. I remember I was in the passenger seat, but I don't know who was driving. I know I was 18-years old. I know I had graduated high school, but can't recall if it was a week after I graduated or two months after. I know it was summer. I know I was being dropped off. I know I was being driven to where I lived, my dad's house...I realize most kids who have yet to leave the nest would refer to that place as "their home", but that's not how I was raised, it wasn't my home, it belonged to Steve.

I know my car wasn't running, it was in the driveway, broken down, I don't know exactly what was wrong with it. I don't know why the person who was driving me dropped me off and left, in hindsight, that was a bad move on my part.

I know that as we drove down my street to the house I began to make out the shapes and forms of items on the lawn, big items, small items, a lot of items. I remember looking out the passenger window as the car slowed in front of the house, I remember Steve, my dad, sitting on the porch.

All of my life my dad told me when I turned 18, I was out. He beat it into my head (literally). My 18th birthday had come and gone in January of that year without any acknowledgement whatsoever by my parents, so although I was a little bothered no one noticed, I was also a little relieved I wouldn't be homeless with 5-months left of high school. When my high school graduation rolled around, and neither of my parents even asked about it or acknowledged that their was a commencement ceremony, I  didn't bring it up, I didn't attend it and they didn't care. Again, I didn't get tossed out of the house, so I counted my blessings.

My luck had run out that day. That day, everything I owned was on the front lawn. My entire life to that point was strewn across the grass as if a micro-tornado hit just my room, just my life.

I had no car to pack it up into and in 1989 I had no cell phone to call anyone. My dad simply said, "I changed the locks" got up, went in the house and shut the door behind him.

I stood there, stunned a bit and turned and walked away...from it all. From my things, my clothes, my life.

I had no siblings out there in the world to call, no friends or relatives to take me in. When I called my estranged mother from a pay phone her response was, "So, wow, where are you going to go?". Exactly what a boy in trouble wants to hear from his mom.

I wasn't a bad kid. I wasn't in trouble. Never got suspended, never got so much as a parking ticket. I just wasn't what my old man thought I should be.

That's the day I learned that no one will ever have my back.

On my way to Waiting

My life is slowly slipping by. I think when you have kids, life moves faster then when you don't have kids and the more kids you have, the faster time flies...because they have so many mile markers along the way to remind you of just how frickin' fast time moves forward, "Oh look she's walking!" "Oh look she's talking!" "Oh look she's in high school!" "Oh look she's picking out our coffins!". Your kids milestones polarize the passage of time. 

I haven't moved to California. I have been convincing myself to be happy with what I have and where I am. I have a lot. I am in a nice place. It's cold as hell, but it's nice.

I still want to be in California. 
I feel like every day that passes, I lose another chance to move there. I lose another day by being here. 

I can't shake it. I can't shake the longing. The wanting. The pangs of regret of not being there.

In a few weeks I'll be in the bay area, like I am every few months, I'll soak it up, I'll take it in and try to savor my time in the sun. I'll dream of living there of staying there of simply being in my Valhalla. I'll wish my wife was with me so I could show her why I love it there, so she could fall in love with the air and sky and ocean and the soul of it all. Then I'll leave. 

I'll get sad. I always get sad.