Use your ten minutes to think deeply whether with poetry or solitude. Use the time perhaps to think about your dead child but force yourself not to turn the sessions into ten minutes of hysteria. And when the time is up, above all, force yourself up from the chair and into some activity. It must be something where physical energy is used and not some passive endeavor such as watching television. Perhaps pick your ten minutes at the time which is busiest for you and therefore you must get up at the end of the period and move about.

People who do not believe in a Supreme Being have often been defined as those who have no invisible means of support. And almost nowhere can their additional burden be sensed more than when they lose a child. They are left not only with the emptiness of their bereavement, they also must bear the weight of feeling there is no divine plans. This tragedy befell them with no remnant of hope even in another life.

One father, who said he is a second-generation atheist, explained his feelings when his daughter died. "I look with envy upon those of you who believe. My intellect does not give me this freedom. Since Betty died I have learned there is little to comfort me in this life. For a nonbeliever faced with the death of his child there are not too many places to turn." "There is not another Superman down the street to offer hope."

The father turned to Lyn and asked just what hope her religion gave her, what promises. She tried to choose the words carefully. "The hope my faith gives me is that Jenny did not die some stupid, meaningless, pointless death. That there was indeed a plan. A reason." The atheist was scornful. They found themselves at a stalemate. Lyn asked him what steps he was taking to help him through his grief. "I think things through a great deal about my daughter and her illness. Also, my mainstay is attending meetings where other parents have lost children from the same disease. Whenever the talk turns to religion I just shut up. But I will tell you, if there is a God, He must be very sadistic to want people to bow down and worship him while He whips you!"

As a believer, I find these sentiments uncomfortable. Yet, in writing pages of this kind, I cannot ignore nor make light of his view. I have met too many bereaved parents who feel as he does.

One woman who prides herself on having begun to function without any belief in God said, "I remember my child. But when a person feels survival depends solely upon herself she must think things through. It is not so much a matter of what happens as how you handle what happens. I go to the cemetery about six times a year. Not because I believe my child's spirit is hovering near but because this was the final place I ever saw him. I go there and reflect and cry. Sad as it may seem, I find this therapeutic."

Some nonbelieving parents have joined organizations whose members are bereaved persons and whose programs examine bereavement. Of all things, they seem to derive the most benefit from meetings held on a regular basis. Some nonbelievers maintain that such organizations cannot be praised highly enough. One man, in fact, made a rather interesting observation. "People generally become very defensive when I tell them I do not believe there is a God. But the oddest thing is that I meet with less hostility over my lack of believing at such meetings than in any other kind of situation. I guess because we are all feeling our way together we are forced to be more open-minded and receptive to different ideas. In all fairness, I don't ridicule people who do believe at these meetings as readily as I do in other places." His view, of course, was entirely different from that of the father who simply clams up when religion is the issue. Yet, by meeting with other bereaved parents, each is given the opportunity to vent feelings and perhaps secure new and positive insights.

Obviously, the weight of coping, for a nonbeliever, is heaviest of all. Where those who believe can reconcile themselves to the idea that someday they will know why their child died, a nonbeliever must rely solely on himself or herself to make some meaning out of the tragedy. While religious people know ultimately they will be reunited with their son or daughter, atheists must accept that what they had with their child is all that will ever be except for their memories. While believers have established places to pray for help and time-honored guidelines to follow, an atheist must resort solely to his or her inner strength.

In effect, a nonbeliever's burden rests heavily with himself or herself. It takes great strength, great fortitude to "go it alone." But, the important thing about this sort of "going it alone" is that it must be limited to a lack of belief and not a lack of supportive people.

A friend, a counselor, an organization of people caught up in the same catastrophe, are avenues that all nonbelievers should pursue. As in all other stages of grieving, people are the most important ally to the bereaved parent. Even for those who believe deeply in God, friends to talk with, to cry to, can be of great value.