The 1 year anniversary

I don't know if it's because I'm skewed or because I'm lazy, but I have no pictures of my family.  I have pictures of places:

I don't miss my dead mother.  I don't miss my still living father.

One of the things I used to say was "yeah...but those people are fakers.  My father has forsaken all because of his belief."  Whoops.  That's my fault for idolization, for believing in someone, for defending the indefensible.  After my realization/deconversion, the only person I thought really believed in the spew coming out of his mouth was my father.  Because he had forsaken riches (and took his family with him), moved from churches who had theological differences (8 of them), and preached a gospel of knowing Jesus.  Forget the Pastor's Child syndrome, the Preacher Syndrome is much more interesting.  At some point, belief becomes a reason itself.  You can't believe in some higher power, some irreducible mover, something ineffable and anti-intentional; you no longer believe in anything other than fear.  The fear of what isn't. 

Here is the truth of my life:  there is no one and no thing whose imagination can fully realize me.   (If you are interested, ask me for the Soda Machine Proof of your non-belief.)

I'm sorry that my mother is dead.  I know my sister misses her.  I know that my father has evaded her death.  I know, and I wish it weren't true, that I don't miss her.  I miss the idea of a mother.  Just like I miss the idea of a father.  And a grandfather.  And a reason to live other than me.  Because I can be really depressing.