Grief Observed 2008

Fri, 03/12/2010 - 11:19pm — Rhonda

Posted 10/18/2008 3:23 PM EDT on newarkadvocate.com You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by the rope over a precipice. Wouldn't you then first discover how much you really trusted it? Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand.No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning, I keep on swallowing. At other times is feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.And no one told me about the laziness of grief. I loathe the slightest effort. Only as a dog tired man wants an extra blanket on a cold night; he'd rather lie there shivering than get up and find one. It's easy to see why the lonely become untidy, finally, dirty and disgusting. It doesn't seem worth starting anything. I can't settle down. I yawn. I fidget. I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness.CS Lewis 1961