Yesterday, Gary’s seven month old grand daughter was christened. Naturally, we were all invited to witness this special event. Besides, Daniel was asked to be her godfather.

Now, I have to admit that I’ve never sat through a church service. In fact, I’ve never attended church, except for these special occasions. You could say I’m a non-believer. Or I was until I lost my son. Since that terrible day, I don’t know what I believe, but I feel the need to believe in something.

Yesterday, I sat in a church – listening and watching…and on the verge of tears. Barry was strong around me. At one stage, just prior to the actual christening, a closed door swung open and I imagined Barry walking in to join us. Later, just after the christening, the same door swung shut, and I thought, “Barry’s left”. The service continued.

As the regulars sung hymns, I got upset. As the priest (or whatever) gave his sermon, I got tearful. Gary wanted to take me outside, but for some reason I didn’t want to leave. Then I discovered the reason. As the parishioners prayed, I added a few words of my own to the end of their prayer.

When it was over, we left. Outside, the thing that had “grabbed” me, let me go. That thing wasn’t a bad thing, I wasn’t fearful, but I don’t know what it was. Was it Barry? Was it something else?

A believer will tell you that you don’t have to go to church to pray for a lost loved one. Maybe I felt that my words would be heard because I was surrounded by devoted Christians and I sat on a church pew. My desire to be heard is great. However, I feel that I don’t have a right to ask anything when I have never even believed.