I don't believe in an interventionist god, or some benevolent benefactor. Nor do I believe in some mystical magical heaven. I DO believe in hell though. I live it every day.
I am feeling ok today, overall. And of course, there is a part of me that feels shitty about that, which I think there always will be. It goes beyond grief and gets down to the nitty gritty, the guilt. That is so much harder to unpack. Grief is noble. Guilt can go either way. You've either earned it or not. But trust me on this; I've earned every fucking ounce of mine.
Years ago, when I was in college, I used to walk past Our Lady of Fatima Catholic Church on my way to school, and I was for a time, obsessed with the thought of sneaking in to give confession. Wait, is it give? Or get? No, penance is what you get. And I wanted it desperately. I suppose what I really wanted was absolution but I fully expected and therefore wanted some serious penance.
I never did go in, was too timid to do so, as if someone would catch me, call me out as a non-Catholic and chase me out the door. No matter how foolish it seems, my fear of being publicly shamed for wanting to be privately absolved of guilt by some stranger whose religion I didn't even particularly subscribe to, kept me from even approaching the confessional.
But oh, how I wanted to.
And I still do some days.