I’ve paid what I consider to be my fair share of life’s inevitable taxes over the years. The NHS is currently rebating some of that with a rather expensive life extending drug.
The other certainty this earth offers is, however, a bit closer to reality for me than I expected at 49. My demise within the next 29 months is set statistically at 50%. There’s an 86% likelihood of not being around in 2022.
As a child I have vague recollections of my Mum being a Sunday school teacher. I’m not sure how long that lasted because I also recall being packed off to church with my sister while my parents stayed at home. I assume they were reading the Sunday papers because I’d rather not assume anything else.
I think that grounding makes me want to believe that there is a God. But as I’ve aged I’ve become more sceptical. Indeed, for the last two decades I’ve declared myself as an agnostic on the rare occasions that the subject has come up. I understand the concept of faith and have no issue with those who believe. But for me you can’t prove things one way or the other. So I’ve been happy sat on my agnostic fence.
A quick dose of terminal lung cancer hasn’t moved me closer to sharing the faith that others have. I’ve never smoked. I don’t deserve it. While I’ve occasionally sinned, I see myself as having lived a life of good intent to others. If there is a God (s)he’s rather taking the piss throwing this affliction at me. I’ve not quite taken the leap into the atheist camp yet but I’m a tad closer than I have been.
As and when the disease progresses things might change. I suppose it’s possible I might identify with religion in some way as I panic about or prepare for what happens after death. It’s one way of covering my options I suppose.
In reality I think it’s unlikely. Recyclable carbon at best is probably the most logic end. But I’ll stay agnostic for now.