He helped me understand my grief. How my body’s shutdown state was a way of conserving energy. Everything had a biological reason, an evolutionary path. He did not believe in God.
“This is our world.” He held up his daybook. “The tangibles, the concrete.”
“What about things we can’t touch, like feelings or hunches?” I squirmed in his office chair.
“They’re biological, you know that, Caitlin. They help us to navigate our complex lives.”
“You’ve never believed in God?”
“Never. And you?”
“Dad always said, ‘God gives us seven days, the least we can do is give him an hour a week.’”
“God. Another false construct.”
“What about Jesus?”
“We need our heroes, our moral men.”
“His rising from the dead?”
“A lovely myth like a fairy tale, like Cinderella. Wasn’t she dead-awakened by a ki
