The conversation I had with Mr. & Mrs. Smith hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. When I talked to Dad and raised my concerns and implored him to think about getting to the hospital, he got very angry with me, and cussed about how the Smiths and everyone else should just mind their own business and leave him alone. He was adamant that he would get healing in Christian Science or just die. Either way, he wasn’t going to the hospital. I felt helpless. I was 3,000 miles away, and wasn’t in much of a financial position to afford to travel on short notice to Dad’s home. I felt trapped and helpless. Continue reading
This is related to my previous post, ‘A Death in the Family‘, and the events I describe here follow on from that post, later in the same year. Since this is a long story to tell, I have broken it into multiple parts. All related posts are under the category ‘Death in my Family‘.
So, what was the final push that got me out of Christian Science? The final of the “death by 1,000 cuts” of my faith in it? My father’s death. Yes, I’m being very un-Christian Science by saying the “D” word, but he died. Unlike in the case of my Mom, I was there for every terrible part of it. Christian Science failed my father in the most horrible way. He was dedicated to it for most of his life, but in the end, his unwavering faith in it condemned him to unspeakable suffering, just as it had my Mom. Continue reading
One might ask me, “what is/was your biggest doubt about the efficacy of Christian Science?” In answer to that, I offer three words: my younger brother. He had a motor condition known as cerebral palsy. In Christian Science-speak, it would be called a belief of cerebral palsy. Yeah, it’s not real (in the fairy-land of Christian Science)–but try telling that to those who have it, or those who care for those who do. Oh, how many times my teenaged self tried to deny the “reality” of my brother’s condition while I was either feeding him dinner or getting him dressed. Cerebral palsy comes in varying degrees of severity. There are many who live quite independent and full lives with it, becoming in some cases well known as actors and comedians, or in many other fields of endeavour. Others, such as my brother, have it in it’s most severe form–rendering them unable to walk, talk, or care for themselves in any way. Many people who are born with this condition as severe as my brother had it do not live much beyond age 30. My brother made it to 16. He died in 1985, the year I graduated from high school. I had just turned 18. I grew up fast. I did not take it well. Continue reading