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My mother was a religious type for as long as I remember. She was so vehement in her beliefs, that more often then I care to say, it complicated our way of living. Regardless of the fact that we were living in poverty for the vast majority of my childhood, her religious zeal compelled her to take the meager remainder of whatever income we managed to scrape together, and briskly give it away, without hesitation, in the form of tithes and offerings to the church. A church which, by the way, was notorious for swindling it's goers and spending the money they received, not to outreach to the public or expand it's ministry, but instead, to buy very unchristlike things, like sports cars or SUVs. It also spurred countless arguments between her and various family-members of mine. In a very serious way, I have her religious forcefulness to thank for acting as a catalyst in my stagnation of religious beliefs and my subsequent pursuit of truth; truth that did not require the use of faith. I suppose to that degree, I am grateful to her religious fervor, due to it's inadvertent ability to awaken that within me, but I find myself much more stupefied at it's direct ability to destroy.

As most of you are already aware, my mother passed away about a month and a half ago from pancreatic cancer. Pancreatic cancer is among the deadliest of cancers, due to its horrible prognosis; it progresses both stealthily and quickly. Therefore, it's no real surprise (however gravely depressing it was) that we got a positive diagnosis so late in its stage of development, and that a week subsequent to the diagnosis, my mother's life was taken by it. The real surprise came when an acquaintance of mom's told us that my mother had known about her cancer long before we found out; about a year earlier.

For a while this information had practically been nothing more then hear-say. We had no real way to confirm the validity of this claim, until a few hours ago, when the said acquaintance forwarded a string of messages sent back and forth between the two of them. I was horrified at what I was reading.

The doctors tested and confirmed that she had cancer a year before she died from it. She knew this, yet she refused treatment and intentionally omitted this from us. Why?

Faith.

She was certain that god would heal her, and she chose not to receive treatment in attempts to prove unambiguously to the doctors that it was divine intervention that cured her and not their medicine. She refused to tell any of us, because she was certain that we would attempt to find a way to get her to receive treatments, and in someway, thwart her divine plan. She made these decisions, knowing full well the somewhat dismal, but still realistic prospect of remission or an extended life span. She could have tried to save herself, yet she chose not to. She could have given herself more time, yet she chose not to. She could have had one last chance to see her 4 year old grandson again, to say goodbye to all of us, to say the things that she left unsaid with her passing, to encourage us to be strong in her absence, and yet, she chose not to.

Her pride was so great, her delusion so grand, her zeal so powerful that she allowed it to consume her. The god she worshiped let her down, seemingly deeming her unworthy to be used as an example for his benevolence, despite her unwavering dedication and years of unrelenting service to him. Her faith bated her last breath.

Her faith killed her.

I hope if nothing else, my mother's pious self-sacrifice speaks to those of you reading this, in a way that allows you to see the real danger in faith healing and in the denial of medicinal treatment. No amount of religious zeal or piety come close to the preciousness of a single human life. There is no martyrdom in death like this. Only pointlessness and an inescapable feeling that someone died for nothing.

I wish you were still here mom. I wish I could have talked you out of this. I miss you. I love you.

Rest in peace.