Jesus Loves You . . .

. . . everyone else thinks you're an asshole.

My cousin and I love this saying because this is the way we feel about our Aunt J. J is one of the primary reasons I dislike organized religion. She is one of the fakest, do-as-I-preach-not-as-I-do Lutheran hypocrite Christians out there. She is the type that makes a big deal of her Christianity only when it serves her purposes, such as putting other people down, making herself feel better for small acts of "goodness" like praying for people who don't want it, excuses for making or living with her mistakes, the reason for refusing to accept responsibility for her life and her decisions, and just about everything else.

Jesus is the reason for everything good in her life, other people are to blame for everything bad in her life. Personal responsibility plays absolutely no role at all.

As with all family issues, my issues with J go deep and broad. From day one, I knew she wasn't right. She was my Uncle T's second wife, a total rebound after his wonderful first wife left him because he was a fucking do-nothing asswipe. I remember the day J walked into our family - a family wedding and T brought this plastic white-trash piece of flim-flam as his date. I was seven years old I knew she didn't belong. Bleached blond hair, set like Dolly Parton circa 1978, make-up she chiseled off at night, hoochey polyester disco-esque pantsuit. She was nothing like the rest of us.

In the end, it would have been just fine if J simply didn't look like us. But her differences, and her extreme need to point out why her differences made her better than the rest of us, were much more destructive. In a proud immigrant family (my mother and all of her siblings, including T, were born in Sweden), J insisted on wearing shirts saying "100% American." She insisted on praying before meals even in my grandparents' house where praying before meals was not desired, appreciated, or tolerated. She refused to eat the food served at any of our houses and often brought McDonald's for herself and her kids to our nine course family dinners, which usually had been prepared over the course of several days.

She didn't drink and disapproved of anyone who did, including her husband, in a family where your first full size shot is ingested before the age of 14. She refused to be gainfully employed in a family where work was valued above everything else. She constantly harped about germs when her kids were always the sickest of them all. She refused to fly or travel by bus or train, stating she had a fear of the shape of the plane, train, or bus (umm . . . Freud anyone?) Since my family is spread all over the country, any family events had to be planned around her driving schedule, even if it took her days to get somewhere. My grandmother's funeral had to be delayed by five days because J wouldn't get on a fucking plane.

In short, I have issues with J and always have. But, the point of this post is that her misuse of religion has always been my biggest issue and the biggest divider in our family.

In October of 2006, my Uncle T was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He was given two to five years to live. He went through all of the aggressive treatment options. Nothing has worked. It has been two years and he has gotten tired of treatment after treatment and is now refusing treatment. He wants to die. He is ready to die and we have accepted it. He is suffering and doesn't want to be poked and prodded and experimented on and feel sicker and sicker. He has lost his business, his ability to dress himself, to walk, to talk, to use the computer, to play the piano or violin. He can't drive a car, write with a pen, understand TV, read a book, or drink alcohol. He barely enjoys food, or jokes, or time with his kids. He is done.

And who could blame him? Most rational people would make the same decision he has made in the same situation. He wants to die. The only person who cannot accept it is J. She has made it her mission in life to "cure" him with every new and experimental treatment available. He has steadfastly refused treatment and is preparing to die. (Actually, he told everyone during Thanksgiving that he was going to die today, December 5th, but we all kind of doubt it works like that, even if you really want to die.)

I no longer have regular contact with either my aunt or uncle but my Aunt J writes a blog of sorts about her experiences with T and the tumor. I never read it. My dad reads it all of the time and then fumes about it for days because it is so . . . irritating. The last entry was at 11:45 pm on Thanksgiving. After talking about all of her blessings and gifts from Jesus, of course, she went on to talk about T:

"A friend brought over another new treatment option to be discussed with T's Neuro-Oncologist, so we talked about this and other options over dessert tonight. I am going to ask you to storm the heavens with T's name, and ask that God will guide and direct these conversations in such a way that T will listen and be receptive."

In other words, "God . . . please do my will and force my dying husband to seek treatment he does not want and live a hollow life that he does not want so my life can be better."

I may not be a devout believer in the Christian idea of God, but I'm pretty sure that God's purpose is not to do our will just because we believe we are right about a certain situation. Convenient belief = the worst type of Christianity. I understand that she loves him, I understand that she is scared shitless to lose her husband before the age of 60. I get that she feels incredible grief to be in this situation. I would not wish her situation on my worst enemy (which, honestly, is probably her . . . so I speak with authority that I did not wish this situation on her.) But using God as her weapon? That's what makes her an asshole.

Nothing is certain. T may die today like he wants. He may die tomorrow or next month. However, it is more likely he will die a long, slow, painful death because of J's selfish need to keep him alive. And that is much, much sadder than the death itself.