I was never really a religious person. I never went to Hebrew school. I never studied or practiced to for a Bar Mitzvah I would never have. And I was quite alright with that from an early age while all of my friends would go to CCD (not something they were entirely thrilled to do anyway). I was content with opening all of my presents on the first night of Hanukah and having my aunt’s delicious matzo ball soup on Rosh Hashanah.
I suppose my path all started in the spring of eighth grade, going all the way back to 1995, at the young age of 14. Spring break begins and I get to enjoy a week off from school; that is until we noticed our beloved cat, Puff, acting strange and shying away from us, hiding out in the basement. Long story short, Puff had become diabetic, and by the time we noticed symptoms enough to bring him to the vet, his kidneys were already damaged. We had to leave him at the vet for several days while they tried to flush out his kidneys and get them working proper again. Unfortunately, progress was slow and it wasn’t looking too promising.
I remember that one night, this young kid of 14, terribly upset at the falling prospects of the beloved family pet. I had never really prayed before, but from what I heard, this God fellow listened to our prayers, loved us, cared for us, et cetera, et cetera. So I prayed as best as I could that night while I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t pray for wealth or a great job or a beautiful woman. I simply prayed for the health and well-being of our cat. That wasn’t so greedy, was it? I knew that surely this God, this benevolent, wonderful, powerful being could kickstart Puff’s kidneys and he’d be able to come home soon, practically good as new. Well, my prayers were never answered, and it wasn’t too long before we had to euthanize Puff to spare him his pain.
While this event made me wonder why this God would turn a deaf ear on a young boy’s pleas, the final blow to whatever faith I had was still 5 years away. Among the friends I made in high school, one of the ones who stood out was Sue. She was a grade younger and became a great friend. One of my fondest memories was myself and a few friends watching the Devils play in Game 6 of the 2000 Stanley Cup Finals at her house. Just a few nights before, during Game 5, we stole a large traffic barrel from the street and wrapped it in tin foil as our very own Cup. The rest of the night didn’t go as planned, but we were able to hoist our concoction proudly when the Devils won the Cup in Game 6.
She was really an incredible person and one of the best friends I have ever had. That is until her accident. Just a few days into her college career, Sue was home for the weekend and went to watch our high school’s football game. Driving home, her car skidded on wet pavement and she lost control, with her Jeep swinging around and crashing, driver-side, into a tree. I still remember the feeling of my stomach sinking and heart breaking when I received the devastating news later that night.
That, for me, was the final straw. Sue wasn’t perfect, but neither was anyone else, but she was still pretty damn great. She had a long life left to live, a bright future. That some God could let this happen to a wonderful person, I couldn’t even possibly fathom the rationale behind this. After the denial, the anger, the bargaining, the depression, and finally, the acceptance, had passed, I came to one conclusion, simply being that there was no god.
