Two weeks ago last night, we were packing for a weekend away with Husband's family, to attend his brother's sealing to his wife and baby, when we found out that my dad had a heart attack and passed away.
My relationship with my dad could be the source of an entire essay by itself, except that I had pretty much become complacent with it. He was my dad, so there's automatically weight to his death, but we were not close and he was, by no means, part of my daily, weekly, or even monthly life. We spoke, at best, about 3 times a year, and saw each other even less than that. I'll miss him, but his death hasn't affected me very much. I do think that maybe something is missing in me - some integral part that has to do with attachment and grieving - but I don't know. And if I really am missing some part or quality, I suppose I prefer it that way.
Anyway. All of that interrupted life for a bit. Traveling, funeral, getting home and getting back into the swing of things.
Going to my b-i-l's sealing, we were both looking at it as possibly the last time that we'd ever enter the temple. I tried to make it a meaningful experience...somehow. I wanted to "take it all in," or take some time to meditate, but there's only so much you can do in a sealing ceremony. Regardless, it was the same experience as usual - nothing about the whole thing or my environment spoke to me. It was great to see our family so happy, and to see them fulfilling something that was important to them and brought them closer. And that was it. Except for the part where, as we sat in the chapel, I looked around at all the faces of former prophets/presidents of the church and thought "How many of you perpetuated lies? What kind of men are you really?" Overall, I found that my experience was the same as it has been in the past - that there isn't anything to take in. Again, is there something missing in me? Or am I just made to feel that way, in this case, by the institution?
When we found out that my dad died, I think both of us wondered if it would change our thoughts and feelings about anything - that the reality of someone close to us passing from this world to the next would shake us up and take a harder look at our beliefs. It didn't change anything for me. Which made me realize that I have always just kind of thought that I would be with my family forever, regardless of how righteous we all are (regardless of what the Church teaches). My family, on the other hand - I think it's different for them. My sister is taking it particularly hard, and it wouldn't be fair for me to say why, but I wonder if she's considering the fact that he'd been excommunicated and never had those blessings restored. I wonder if that's playing a role in her heartbreak.
Husband found a great blog yesterday. I've been reading some of it. The post I read today particularly spoke to me, about how I feel about researching all of this. What it comes down to for me is this: it's hard to believe any of the historical documents, because you just can't prove what's true or not. There's no way of knowing, unless I had witnessed events, people's characters, conversations, etc. for myself.
So all I can do is follow what I feel is right. And the Church isn't it. Still a hard pill to get down, though, with such "TBM"s (oh boy, I'm among the acronym users now) making up my family, and having been ingrained in this lifestyle so long.
Although, to my surprise, my two strong, stalwart, active brothers reacted very calmly and lovingly to our questions and doubts. We had very good conversations with both of them during our get-together for dad's funeral. I don't know that they'd be very bothersome if we chose a different route. It was very refreshing and so much less dramatic than talking to my mom or sister about it (all of this I failed to write about because of my dad dying, etc. But my sister ended up telling my brothers, "for moral support," which pissed me off pretty well. Then she spilled the beans to my mom when she tried to say "I have a friend having some doubts." My mom guessed who the friend was and my sister proceeded to spew.) All of that doesn't matter anymore - it's kind of nice to have it in the open, but I would have rather kept it from every single one of them. A few days ago, though, I realized that all I have to say to any of them when they bring it up is: "I don't want to talk about that." We don't have to talk about it. They'll want to because they'll assume (correctly) that we're not pursuing the LDS ideal, but they'll be respectful and not talk about it when we say we don't want to. It's perfect. Just leave the topic alone, and we can go on being a happy family without differences. I'm good with that.
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