I’ve never been religious. I wasn’t raised in a religious household, and even from a young age I saw too much of the dark side that religion can breed. I saw religious intolerance, discrimination, oppression, and even hatred and violence. All of this made me never want to belong to any religion.

But when my young daughter drowned, I was convinced the pain of her death would have been significantly easier had I been religious.

If I had the unwavering faith there was an afterlife, would I feel comforted? If I fully believed in heaven, then I’d be sure my daughter and I would be together again someday. Armed with that knowledge, I assumed the unbearable pain would disappear – or at least lessen significantly.

I recalled all the times I’d seen religious people appear “back to normal” soon after the death of a loved one. They appeared secure in their belief that the deaths were part of God’s “Grand Plan” and their loved ones were resting in heavenly peace.

Many of the condolence messages we received in the wake of Margareta’s death had religious overtones. They were filled with scripture passages and reassurances that she was in a better place and safe with God.

The condolence messages mostly tried to reassure us that God had a plan, and that we should find comfort in this.

To be honest, I began to resent these letters. I was well-aware the people who sent them meant well, but I found it very insensitive to just assume these words would bring us any comfort.

If anything, it made me think they didn’t really know us at all. The letters appeared to be more for the sender’s benefit (to help make sense of the death of a young child) than ours.

In my grief, I began to meet more and more bereaved parents who had lost their religious faith in the wake of their child’s death.

They rejected the notion that their God would have seemingly “chosen” that their child should die, while sparing others. They spoke of the unfairness of it all and had turned their back in anger and even feelings of betrayal. I began to realize that unwavering faith isn’t as strong as I thought if pushed to certain extremes – like losing a child.

Yet even seeing their disillusionment, I was still compelled to search for answers to whether there was some kind of life after this one. Was there some “Grand Plan” that would make sense of her death; to give it some meaning?

The idea that she died for no other reason than we lost sight of her for too many minutes was heart-wrenching. It filled me with unbearable guilt.

I poured over books that described near death experiences and visions of an afterlife. Some books said we live many lifetimes with the purpose of learning different lessons in each. I even got a psychic reading that reinforced this notion of reincarnation.

While I wanted very much to believe in these ideas, I remained unsure. I just couldn’t make that “leap of faith” that it was a certain truth. So I continued down the difficult path of healing my grief not knowing what I should believe.

Looking back, I am actually grateful for my uncertainty and lack of religion. It gave me no other choice than to look inward to find strength and resilience I never believed was there.

This discovery gave me the determination to overcome life-long limiting beliefs. Beliefs that kept me from following my dreams and living a life filled with purpose and meaning. Looking inward taught me the true meaning of kindness, compassion, and empathy. It has improved my relationship with those I love. And has taught me to take better care of myself and my needs.

The catalyst for all of this personal growth was the death of my daughter. It forced me to face my deepest, darkest fears that I had avoided my whole life. I have since learned many profound lessons in the passing years.

So was my daughter’s death all part of some “Grand Plan” after all?

Maybe. Maybe not. Since I can’t know the answer to that question as long as I’m alive, I find more comfort in accepting the fact that I don’t know. I don’t want to ask if there is a God or not. I no longer want to find out the “truth” of whether there is an afterlife.

Letting go of those questions has allowed me to release the anxiety that comes with them.

It allows me to focus on making the best of each and every day here and now. I’m encouraged to nurture my relationships with my family and friends who are still with me. All while acknowledging that I will think of and miss my daughter every day for the rest of my life.

The fact is I would love nothing more than knowing I’ll be with my daughter again someday in a life after this one. But I’m learning to be content knowing that with every thought of her and every lovely memory, she is and always will be with me during this lifetime.