"TFF, do you have any knowledge as to what way your grandmother's tragic experience affected her, and other members of the family. Did she go to any church? "
She spoke about it, always with tears in her eyes. She cried sometimes. She was a Methodist and attended church every Sunday. She and grandpa gave a lot of money to their church. I liked and respected their pastor who came to my assistance on several occasions when grandma could not take "I don't believe" as an answer. She was sometimes bitchy and manipulative, but down deep she was a truly loving and caring person and most of the time she lived up to the principles she aspired to.

Very often, when I am about to waken, I forget where I am and what has happened. I get up and think to myself, "Boy, these kids of mine are SO amazing! I gotta call grandma and grampa and tell 'em!" Sometimes I'm happy and humming to myself halfway into my shower before it hits me.

I miss them both so badly and yet I know that they are gone. I will never see them again, except in pictures; never talk to them, argue with them; never taste grandma's potato salad or fried liver; never hear grandpa another of his silly jokes or sing one of his hymns.

My rejection of a belief in their immortality is not due to any feeling of malice or that I just don't care. I often *LONG* for this belief and wish that it could be justified intellectually.
I feel happy, though, or at least relieved that my mother is comforted by such a belief, this belief that I am not capable of having. I do not think my mother is an idiot or a weakling because of her belief. I don't even think her belief is unjustified - it's just not justified by correct reasoning or evidence.