A talk with the ancestors

Hey, ancestors, I want to talk to you about mom. You all know she’s in assisted living and on hospice care now. She knows the end is in sight, though we can’t judge the distance. I think she felt that nearness yesterday after a visit with one of the hospice folks. I called her last night. She’s afraid she’ll die and go to Hell. We know that fear is groundless, but she very much does not. I feel a bit useless to her here because, although I can speak that language, my words don’t carry a lot of weight since I’m not a Christian in any way she recognizes. So I’ve encouraged her to talk to one of her preacher friends and the hospice chaplain. At the moment, the thing I most want to do is rage against the evils of religion. I want to put down that voice inside telling me to be patient and fair. I don’t want to be fair. The devil is real and I know a few of his names. I want to curse all of them, from the daintily-dressed, incense-scented priests to the sweaty, screaming backwoods…