- Sir Oliver Lodge
The anniversary of my brother’s death is nearing, and I’ve fallen prey to one of those ‘they are still among us’ books. Even after all these years, my need to believe that he is still around is so powerful. This book tells me all things I want to hear, and it’s so tempting to cling to each story and promise (none of which are backed by any facts).
One of my living brothers is an atheist who thinks it’s all hogwash. Everything ends with death, he says. There is no afterlife, no ‘they are still among us’ bullshit. I’ve been researching all those hack psychics like John Edwards and Sylvia Brown and have determined there is nothing more despicable than a lying con artist who manipulates those in mourning. These talk-to-the-dead psychics are like contestants on the Wheel of Fortune (I’m feeling a Y, I’m feeling a K – something that starts with K?); but there was one psychic in particular who (I’m ashamed to admit) I sort of believed. I won’t even name her, because the entire thing is too embarrassing, but it’s that whole ‘they are still among us’ thing again. I am interested in her for the same reason that I love Rob Brezsny’s horoscopes, even though I know astrology is just hokey. I'm looking for poetry, I'm searching for symmetry. I need to believe in something or I believe nothing. I suppose I'm having trouble living in the grey area I've inhabited of all my adult life. In the end, I don’t know if he’s here or vanished. I could say, All that remains of my brother are the bones in the ground. Or I might say, He’s in heaven with angels. Or I might say, he’s come back as a chipmunk. ..
Surprisingly, I’ve learned atheists have a sentimental side.
“He lives in me. My memories of him keep him alive.”
I’m paraphrasing, of course, but it was something to that effect. I suppose, for now, it will have to be enough.
