
****TW: suicide and cussing****
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I may be a people pleaser, I guess. Maybe I’m too nice.
I couldn’t change that at this stage in my life if I tried.
I, for the most part, just let people say what they want and do what they want, because it’s easier to keep the peace.
So the title. Here we go.
My mothers family is southern baptist. My father was catholic, he had to go through quite the ordeal to take that path, I believe he was in his 30’s.
My grandparents, or my grandmother actually, was just a quiet, but strong in her faith and strong in her church, Methodist.
So that’s my experiences growing up. I would go to church with my moms family, and often came home a little scared. I honesty did not feel peace there.
But oh, when I would visit my Dad, I would go to mass with him.
There was something incredible about the ritual of a catholic mass. All of it, I loved it.
The foster parents I ended up with were also catholic, but they did not go to church.
So, with that, I did get the basic foundation of the Christian religion.
Then I met my husband. This man never went to church, was absolutely clueless, had no idea why he was buying Christmas presents and was quite confused when I explained what Easter actually was.
Fast forward to January 2017, and our entire family was baptized in our little 150 year old Lutheran church.
Where we went for a few years, until covid. Then during that time, the pastor retired and we have not been back.
Lutheran to me felt like a small version of the catholic mass. Our church was old, so much history, the sanctuary was peaceful, the enormous stained glass cast the most beautiful light. I loved the Sunday mornings there, the people, the ritual of communion, there really was peace there.
My oldest was the organist. So before he could drive, I would take him and sit in that quiet peace while he practiced on this ancient, giant pipe organ that sounded so incredible.

I found peace there, mainly because I was in my own head, but it’s not the spiritual path I follow.
Some may see that as hypocrisy, to be there and not follow it, but I do me, you do you. My lane, your lane. 
That’s another story, I guess.
Though it’s not what I follow, I respect it, I understand it, I think it gives an incredible foundation to just be a good human.
I’m not sure why I had to wander off in my own history of Christianity, but there it is.
I have found there are two things that will divide people and fights can erupt and separate families and friends.
Politics and religion.
But the people pleasing, people watching soul that I am, I try to leave those two out of any and all conversations I have.
Because the full blown fire element Sagittarius that I am will go to verbal battle with you if I’m judged for either.
I don’t judge you, I don’t care one bit what you believe in and how you vote. Don’t come at me. I’m not forcing mine on you, back off with yours.
So that little outburst brings me to what has me trying to figure out assholes in life.
My dad, catholic, took his own life.
Two months later, sitting in my living room, my husband decides to casually mention in all of his religious glory and knowledge, that my dad is in hell.
“Your dad is in hell.”
“No he isn’t.” As this actually goes against my own beliefs.
“Well, from what I understand, he is.”
I just looked at him. The physical reaction his words caused can’t be described.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything, but just sit there blinking.
I was in a FB suicide group at the time. I was curious, I didn’t need anyone to pat me in the head and reassure me where my father was, but curious if anyone else had been told that.
So I posted “has anyone been told by a loved one that their family member is in hell”
Flood gate opened with comments. Over 1000 comments on that post that lasted for weeks. Overwhelming amount saying yes, someone has told them that.
So I sat with it for a while. I thought about it, I thought about my dad.
I thought about the young girl in our community that made that same choice.
Her choice rocked our little town. Her mom was well known. Her daughter was well known.
I could not imagine that sweet girl anywhere in the afterlife but somewhere good, somewhere peaceful.
Had anyone had the audacity to say those words to her mom?
So I finally confronted my husband. It took a few weeks, but it settled in me that saying that to me was really messed up.
I just couldn’t put my finger on the why. Why did it bother me?
He looked so confused at my hurt. He still doesn’t understand why that hurt.
I also, to be honest, didn’t understand the hurt. So strong am I in the “you believe what you believe, I believe what I do.”
So if that’s what he thinks about my dad, why am I bothered so much.
But I was. I still am.
I didn’t know until yesterday why. It’s so simple, I overthink everything.
Scrolling through TikTok yesterday, I came across this one.
Just in case it doesn’t play, here’s a screenshot of the subject being discussed.

It resonated with me. Bringing up, again, that my husband told me my dad is in hell.
I commented. Basically saying that my dad made that choice and people thought it was Ok to tell me he was in hell.
I got a few replies that yes, my dad is in fact, in hell.
Many commented that they don’t think so, they too had lost loved ones to this choice, they don’t believe it.
I wondered why I commented. It was not to seek sympathy, or validation that he’s not, it was simply a comment stating that someone I was supposed to love and trust, looked at me and told me that.
I read comments through the day, and they are still coming in this morning.
It hit me. It finally dawned on me why what he said to me was absolutely horrible.
Because there are two sides to suicide. The side of committing it and the side where your loved ones are now standing.
I had to clean up what was left of his choice. I was his daughter. No daughter should have to do that.
There was no note. I still struggle every single day with guilt. The why. The sheer amount of weight on my shoulders cannot be put into words.
The fact that everyday, I close my eyes and see a flash of what I had to clean up. The door I had to kick in swinging open. It’s the door, always the door kick. It works its way into everyday thoughts and nightmares at night. Every. Single. Day.
Every single day I picture him, I imagine those few seconds he went through before committing to his decision.
What could I have done to be there for him? The guilt is heavy.
The anger. Oh, the guilt of the anger too. The anger is heavy. It can be consuming at times.
So, here comes the Sagittarius in me… here’s what took me forever and a day to figure out why this bothered me…
Who in their right fucking mind thinks it’s alright on any level to say to someone standing on this side of suicide, “Hey! Yeah! Sorry about your loss!! Here’s some flowers! Oh by the way, just so you’re aware, he’s burning in hell!”
That is the definition of evil.
To even fathom saying that to someone! You are literally crushing someone who already has so much weight on them.
The fact that it took me this long to figure out why that sat so hard on me, is a bit mind blowing. I feel kind of stupid.
Also shows me that it’s because I could never, ever ever say that to someone.
I wouldn’t even think it!
I do not know where my father is. My husband does not know. Those strangers on the internet do not know.
Only my dad knows.
But I hope there is not a God out there that would punish someone who is so far mentally gone and desperate for peace with forever fiery purgatory.
Doesn’t make sense to me.
Don’t say that to someone on this side. We had nothing to do with their choice, we are just shouldering it and living with it.

Sorry. Just writing this out of my head.
In the end, if someone believes that, I cannot change their view and I don’t care to do so. I just strongly believe you should not give your opinion of where they are spending their afterlife to a person grieving the loss.