No one said it would be easy

...so says Cloud Cult, so simply.

I had dinner with my parents tonight. My dad has leukemia. He is here for treatment. Do I sound like a robot yet?

There is so much history to recount that it's hard to know where to begin.

The beginning is - I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. My parents are Jehovah's Witnesses. My soon to be ex was a Jehovah's Witnesses, we were Jehovah's Witnesses together, and his parents are Jehovah's Witnesses. I am not anymore. This presents a problem for those who stay and those who leave.

If you leave, your parents and "friends" are taught by the organization that is wrong to associate with you.

I have explained to my parents numerous times my reasons for leaving. I have told them I am not coming back to that religion.

It is so hard for them to comprehend, and nearly impossible for them to accept. I see their struggle between loving me but abiding by what they believe Jehovah, the name sake of the religion, wants them to do. My brother, who recently left as well (let me interject that there are not words to describe how lucky I am to have him in my life, along with an aunt who also left before me) refers to it as circular logic. They say, in effect, "We love you so much we have to shun you." The hope is that you'll return.

So, for the umpteenth time, my cancer ridden father has pleaded with me to reconsider my decision. He has told me how much they love me and how the end of this world is coming and they want to see me live.

I tell myself I can't go thru this again. I asked him tonight, "What if every time I saw you, I was trying to convince you of my beliefs? This isn't fun. It's fun to talk about what we've been doing, but not fun to talk about religion." I have told him I don't want to talk about it, and get drawn into the conversation. The last two times I had dinner with him or with he and my mom, religion wasn't mentioned, so I started to feel like maybe we had crossed that bridge to a place where we could talk about other things.

But then tonight, again.

I imagine when I re-read this post it is going to seem very chaotic and maybe even distraught, but I'm not going to edit it, not one word of it. It's raw and it's true. It's about not having the answer. It's the primal feeling of wanting family, of wanting parents who love you unconditionally, to be adult enough to disagree with your choice but let it go.

But instead, I had to watch my dad fight back tears, warn me of Armageddon's impending doom and repeat that they just want me to be on Jehovah's side so I can survive.

And I had to feel the stint in his arm where the chemo goes in as I hugged him and told him, "No, Dad. I don't believe that anymore."

I had to hear him say, "I love you but this is going to impact our relationship." Hasn't it already? ...not to mention the fact that he has been saying this since I left.

So we are stuck in a pattern of neither one of us being true to our word. I tell myself if they mention religion I will leave. And he tells himself that if I don't believe the same way as him that he will shun me.

But somehow he can't. Somehow, I'm still the little girl sitting on the floor listening to him play and sing Johnny Cash on his guitar. He's proud that he raised me to be strong but sad that it means I won't agree with him.

The difference between us is that I'm not worried about him changing. To me, he can have his convictions and still have a relationship with me. I won't try to convince him his beliefs are wrong. It's not my place. But he, well, he will use all his strength to convince me I'm wrong.

And loving someone means you love them as is. Period. The end.