Three Deaths

Pope Francis coincidentally died the day after a meeting with the anti-Christ's vice president. Trump was upset that the funeral wasn't about him, and so was everyone else. The late Pope was one of the earliest cracks in my Mormon testimony because I found him far more inspiring than my "prophet," Thomas S. Monson. I was not very impressed with Monson's stories and platitudes. I think Francis revolutionized the culture of Catholicism in positive ways, if not the actual teachings, but I'm no expert on that. I have one hardcore Catholic Facebook friend. I added him years ago because he said he was trying to build bridges between Catholics and Mormons. It turned out he actually was trying to convert Mormons, so that was kind of a dick move. Anyway, I sometimes see him expressing strong opinions about points of Catholic liturgy or doctrine that I'm quite certain have as much eternal significance as whether Spider-Man could beat Superman, and it's weird, but I'm sure I sounded similar when I talked about Mormon theology that can be directly traced to a nineteenth-century treasure hunter plagiarizing other people's ideas.

I was a little more affected to learn of the death of Deserae Turner-Buck. I talked to her only briefly when I met her in a Mormon Institute of Religion class almost four years ago, but she was semi-famous for surviving attempted murder via gunshot to the head. She had health problems and a reduced life expectancy, but she wasn't supposed to die at age 22. She had stomach cancer and a lung infection. I have no idea whether those can somehow be traced to getting shot in the head or are just incredibly unlucky coincidences. In her final interview, she said she was tired, had chosen not to fight, and wanted to let her body go. "Death is scary, not gonna lie. Everybody is scared of death, and... yes, I guess I am scared a little bit, but I also just want it to come quick, come for me and be done." Damn.

Something I wrote about her in my recent book, Goodbye Mormonism, Hello World, has now been resolved:

[S]he said apostle Ronald A. Rasband had given her a blessing and promised that someday she would regain the use of her left arm. Sometime after I left the LDS Church, I remembered that and realized with horror that she probably never will regain the use of her left arm, and she might well lie on her deathbed wondering what she did to disqualify herself from that promised blessing. Maybe she’ll rationalize that Rasband was talking about the next life, where complete healing was already a given, rendering the blessing superfluous."

That, I'm sure, is how any still believing Mormons who know about this blessing will rationalize its lack of results. If you think that sounds like a really lame copout, you are so right.

My dog, Milo, died over eight years ago. I wish I could have been with him at the time. On Tuesday morning I had a dream about him. I believe this dream was influenced by the spiritual things I study and by getting the best high of my life on an empty stomach on Sunday evening, so its real world significance is up for debate. I'd like to think his consciousness was literally visiting mine, but I won't know anytime soon. Basically, in the dream, I realized that Milo wasn't dead, he was right here. We were on beautiful forested hills above a lake. I stayed pretty stationary while he romped all over the place and peed on things. Some other guy (whom I want to believe was some kind of spirit guide) was there with a rabbit. I couldn't describe the guy if my life depended on it, but the rabbit was big and shaggy and the same colors as Milo (brown and black). I kept expecting Milo to chase it, but he left it alone. Then he pooped in the lake, and then he went right behind me to shake himself off. My first reaction was annoyance that he had all this space and chose to shake himself off on me, but it quickly gave way to amusement. And then I realized my back actually felt wet. The contrast of this real feeling with the unreality of the dream caught my attention and left an impression on me as I woke up. I was, fortunately, not wet in real life. But I want to believe that feeling proved it was a real experience and not just a random byproduct of firing neurons.