test to destruction

Not a fun one. Might want to skip it.
My father in law is in the hospital again.
The god I was taught about in catholic school is exactly the type of hateful bastard who would torment a helpless old man like this. Therefore, in this instance, and in this context, I believe in that god. He's proven himself.

What point is there in this? My father in law never gets a fucking break. It's always something, and just as he's recovering from one blow he gets knocked back another couple of steps further. It's sadistic. He's dying by inches...only to be given a little glimmer of hope,only to have that dashed. Over and over again.
I wish he would die. I do not say that out of hate; I say that out of love.
The idiots, criminals and cowards who made up the bulk of the adults I was acquainted with as a child always used to say 'well, now, you know, god never gives us anything that we can't handle'.
I see. that explains it.
Yes, that god has certainly proven himself.

In the real world, there is nothing I can do.
Age does not scare me. Illness and helplessness do. The combination of the three is just about more than I can tolerate.

My grandmother suffered a great deal of abuse and neglect in her final years. She injured herself falling down a flight of stairs and was dumped into a rest home that made the front pages of the local newspaper as being one of the FIVE WORST FACILITIES IN THE STATE OF OREGON. It was not lack of money that kept her there; it was sons who could not be bothered to take care of someone who was female, old and sick. Oh, and not really their mother, just some gold digging woman my grandfather had married in his old age. So she didn't count, you see. And that was the excuse for letting her lay in filth, with dried food on her face, with bedsores so vile that there was exposed pelvic bone, racked up on tranquilizers to keep her from screaming and 'making a fuss.'

Negotiations were discussed with the staff...should they keep her going? Or should they 'let her go'?
Oh, heavens no...let her go? That would be WRONG.

They actually discussed this. My parents, my uncles and aunts, discussed this with the staff, every visit, in front of me, in front of my grandmother. I was ten.

She laid there with a broken hip that refused to mend. Steel pins were needed to hold it together, and the incisions made for their insertion never healed. She laid there for years, constantly running a fever from low-grade infection until it destroyed her mind, neglected, unwashed, untended.

There were three sons sharing the expense. Three prosperous sons. Nobody had the character to make a decision about her care. Nobody wanted to take any blame. That was obviously a far worse thing than letting an old woman die in pain.

If I came within arms reach of my grandmother she would latch on to my arm so tight she would leave bruises, and she would repeat 'I want to go home, take me home, let me go' over and over again. The staff and my family would have to remove her hands by force. Then I would get hustled out into the hallway and scolded for upsetting my grandmother. And screamed at all the way home.
Because this was more acceptable than admitting to themselves the relief they felt at having an excuse to leave, you see.

I showed the newspaper to my parents when the article about the Stanley Home came out. I was screamed at. There was a scene. Both my parents rapidly became incoherent with rage. ' You dont know nothin about it! Thats none of your business!' Two people in their early fifties with flecks of foam, literally, gathering at the corners of their mouths, spittle flying, purple faced with rage, screaming noises at a ten year old child.
I was ten. I was the only one who cared, and I was ten. And I was absolutely powerless. There was nothing I could do.

So which god is responsible for this?

Despite my anger at religion I really do try to do the right thing. I believe that stuff about 'love one another.' I agonised over the commandment 'honor thy parents'. In the case of my parents 'honoring' meant keeping my family safe from them and making sure they had an estate administrator before I bid them and their venom adieu. It meant not pressing charges. It meant letting the entire episode come to an end, refusing to feed it, and repairing the damage.

In the case of my husbands father it seems to consist of watching him die by slow degrees and buying him a load of groceries every now and then.
I really hate this.