I was a faithful Latter Day Saint for well over 30 years. Nothing seemed to bother me. Until I lost someone I couldn’t live without. How hollow all the attempts to comfort me were. Most hollow of all was the promise of the Resurrection. Who would this ‘perfect’ version of my beloved be? Would they like the same dumb movies we had watched a hundred times in our college dorm? Would they know all the lyrics to our favorite Eminem song? Would they have their adorable stutter that only showed up when they were giddy with laughter? How could they? How could somebody I loved because of their glorious imperfections possibly be the same person with all of that erased. No. The Resurrection was not a promise. It was a threat. And one that I could no longer entertain. The only perfection I wanted was the same death that my beloved had claimed before me. And this resurrection, the beautiful forever of our atoms returning to the universe, is infinitely more meaningful.