… in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
In reading quotes about grief, I notice that many of the ones that ring true are from Lewis’s book about his wife’s death. I downloaded it to my Kindle so I will start reading the whole thing tonight.
Many things keep me from writing about my own grief, but the biggest hindrance may be the strangeness of it. Every day I am startled and disturbed by a new discovery — of an ache or a gaping hole or a missing component of myself. I am helpless against the ambush of thoughts and emotions whether it comes just as it did yesterday, or by a fresh route.
That all sounds like grief is something outside of me, but of course it’s what is going on in my heart; it is Me. This Me is a woman I don’t really know; she is mystifying and unpredictable. I don’t know what else to write about her, but I pray for her.