This piece was originally published in Going Down Swinging 33. You can buy a copy here.
It’s nearly midnight and we’ve been talking for nearly three hours before I think to ask him about religion. He shrugs before replying,
“Further away if anything. I think Mum’s been drawn to it, but not me.”
I nod and that’s it. For the rest of the night we talk about the funeral arrangements, medication, writing, mourning, living overseas. We don’t talk about the soul, or the afterlife or even really death itself at all – just the little things before and after, like song choices and Facebook notifications. At one point I notice the painting of the Last Supper on the wall opposite me but religion doesn’t come up again.