Even though it's a common theme that scientists by definition cannot believe in a God, I've found that insufficient. I was caught too early at age 5 in church and cannot not believe in a God.
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
--Proverbs 22:6 (KJV)
When my beloved Siamese cat died, I drove to the liquor store in Waco to assuage my anguish, and with the half-gallon plastic bottle rolling around on the passenger seat, I yelled, "God damn you God. You took one of the last things I loved, you ------------. There is an evil thread within you that you don't comprehend."
Thereby proving that I still believed in God.
When my father and mother died, I accepted it as this is the way things are, but for some reason my cat's death hit me hard and fast. I put her in a plastic grocery bag and dug a hole in the backyard and buried her. Ever since, the grass there has grown greener and fuller than any other place in my backyard.
My dad had a proper casket burial 26 years ago, and my mother wished to be cremated. So, during the burial next to my dad's tomb, my sister and I dropped her remains into the six-foot hole and I filled in the hole to save my sister and brother-in-law the $100 for the hole-filling fee. Her people had been buried in that selfsame cemetery since the 1860s. So, I knew it well.
My sister had learned to play elementary guitar and played and sang "Amazing Grace" and "I'll Fly Away", which was my mother's favorite number to play on the upright piano we used to have.
My brother-in-law was the MC and did a fine job. I was in no shape to participate in any of the proceedings, but just stood there, motionless. Looking into the foot-wide augered hole that was prepared for my mom's remains.
About 50 people showed up. Some I hadn't seen in years. But I was in too much of a daze to converse with them to any great degree. I finally told my sister, "Let's get the hell out of here."
And we did.