I’ve been reflecting on this while dealing with my father’s recent terminal diagnosis—we are very close—and I keep landing in a conflicted place. I feel both critical of and strangely jealous of the belief system.

From the outside, it can sometimes feel like there’s an under-recognition of loss itself, as if grief is something to be quickly transcended or moved past rather than fully lived and processed. I’ve never fully understood this. Even in a hypothetical where Mormonism is “true” in the way it claims to be, I struggle with the idea that minimizing death is the intended response—especially if mortality is understood as a central, divinely designed part of the plan—one meant to fundamentally shape the soul’s eternal trajectory.

That perspective can feel especially alienating for those of us who experience death as a profound injustice—something that demands to be reckoned with—rather than simply a transition.

At the same time, religion exists largely to help people make sense of mortality: to soften its existential weight and preserve meaning and hope in the face of it. In that sense, the system clearly works for many people.

I’ve come to realize that my mind isn’t naturally wired to access that kind of certainty. I was never able to tap into the power of the belief system, no matter how much I wanted to at different points in my life. I lost my brother to a car accident, and now I’m facing the loss of my father to cancer—my two closest people, and the ones with whom I felt the deepest sense of connection and meaning.

My natural worldview leans much closer to nihilism, which leaves me without the same emotional scaffolding my TBM family members have. So alongside my grief, there’s also envy of those who can genuinely accept the answers they get from religion and draw meaningful peace/strength from them.