Goodbye, Dear Jenny...

April 21, 1998

   The sun glared low in the west.

   Jennifer sped along, glad to be driving home from a family funeral.

   It was hard when someone died. But she lived, strong and beautiful. She turned 21 a week ago, and was learning to savor real adult independence.

    It was hard when her parents split up many years ago, but now she was starting to understand it.

   It was hard to get a job with just a high-school education, but she did it.

   It was hard to get a car, but she did that, too. It was a pretty white one, not very new, but able to keep up with the heavy traffic on the busy 2-lane road. And today, it carried the most important part of her young life.

   It was hard to be a single mother. But her sons were her proud badge of her own adulthood. So what if their fathers didn't care enough to stick around? She cared enough to be a good mother, and was proving it every day.

    She smiled at Alex in the back seat. She was proud to have given him life 2 years ago, and to have protected him so well. Little Joseph was safe in his baby seat behind her, and she was nearly recovered from his birth 6 months ago.

    It was hard to concentrate on driving with both boys crying at the same time. But she knew they would soon be safely home, where they could all sleep.

   She checked Alex again, and twisted around to rub little Joseph's tummy.

    It was her last act.

    Her car drifted left, collided with an oncoming car, and spun around. The young driver of the semi-truck right behind couldn't stop as he rolled into the wreckage.

    Jennifer died instantly. Alex died in a few hours. Baby Joseph survived to face a lonely life without parents, brothers or sisters.

¶

The Chief Pretender of the church rose and began to talk. But not about Jenny! He jabbered about Jesus. He read about Jesus; he talked about Jesus; he sang about Jesus.

¶

    Phones rang and tears fell through the night as the tragic family news was relayed across the country. Yes, we'd all be there. We had shared watching Jenny grow up from birth. Now it was time to share her death. Most everyone called it a "senseless tragedy." The words bothered me. Was "senseless" the right word? Is there any other kind of tragedy? Is there a "sensible tragedy?" Smashing head-on into oncoming traffic resulted in horrible death, but it made gruesome sense.

    As I struggled to find better words, the church provided the answer, and turned the occasion into a "senseless" tragedy.

    Jenny was part of a well-known local family, with a famous heroic father, a well-known mother, and a large family tree of relatives nation-wide. She would have been amazed that nearly a thousand people came to wish her good-bye. She never knew she was so loved by so many.

    Jenny played her role of puttied, painted, powdered princess. A standing-room-only crowd packed the big church to hear about Jenny's life and death.

    The Chief Pretender of the church rose and began to talk. But not about Jenny! He jabbered about Jesus. He read about Jesus; he talked about Jesus; he sang about Jesus.

    I wanted to stand up and shout: "No! This is Jenny's time! This is Jenny's very last time! Jesus gets discussed every damned Sunday, but a thousand people came here today to hear about Jenny!"

    But I didn't say anything. I wasn't throwing this painful party, so I kept quiet. So did everyone else. (I'm sorry we let them get away with it, Jenny.) With dead Jenny laying in front of us all, cradling the body of her son, the Robed One said she wasn't "really dead." What? Wasn't that why we were holding this funeral? Why was this maniac conducting her funeral, if he didn't think she was dead? A head-on crash, a coroner's report, a body in a casket -- what else does it take to be "really dead?" What lies and hypocrisy!

    The Relentless Robe wouldn't let up, as he rambled on about Jesus rising from his tomb. Some of the audience probably believed that myth, but even they didn't expect Jenny to be coming home for dinner. She was going to be buried in an hour. Why waste her last hour on offensive lies? The reality of death is hard enough without official lies from a pulpit.

    Finally, the senseless ritual and rambling was over, and the casket was carried out.

    Jenny had been ignored at her own funeral.

    It was a "senseless tragedy" after all.

   Good-bye, Dear Jenny. You deserved better. We will miss you. And we promise to drive carefully -- for a long, long time.

Gentleman Jim Heldberg is National Affiliation Director for American Atheists, and lives in his favorite city, by the bay. We offer our sympathies for his loss ... and we're glad to see him back at the keyboard.

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