Grief finds its way into our lives at various moments and through different avenues. No matter whether it’s something that occurred recently or quite a while ago, grief can frequently resurface or amplify its presence during the autumn and winter months. We might feel its weight on Nov. 2, when the Church commemorates the feast of All Souls, prompting us to reflect particularly on all those cherished individuals who have passed on — whether it was merely weeks ago or many years past. The pangs of grief can also emerge when we notice the void at the Thanksgiving gathering. Moreover, the holiday season often evokes memories of those who previously gifted us or for whom we no longer purchase gifts. Nevertheless, regardless of when grief decides to show up, we frequently find ourselves contemplating whether this response to grief is typical. Do others experience such profound sorrow as I do? Do others bear this burden for such an extended period? Do others wrestle with the same fears and frustrations that I experience? Do others sense that God is indifferent?

The response to all of those inquiries is “yes” … and “no.” Every individual will mourn in a unique manner since no one shared precisely the same connection as we did with the person we’ve lost. Even identical twins, who are mourning the same parent, will process their grief differently. Therefore, there exists no correct or incorrect method of grieving. In the past, it was thought that our grief should proceed through specific stages. We now understand that this is no longer the case. Some individuals may never feel anger; this doesn’t imply that experiencing anger is incorrect. Some may come to terms with a death right away, while others might remain in denial for weeks or even months.

Believing there is a single correct way to mourn is just as misguided as thinking there is only one proper way to experience happiness. This is precisely why the esteemed Christian author C.S. Lewis bestowed upon us a valuable resource in his work “A Grief Observed.” Lewis is widely recognized for his timeless works, including “Mere Christianity,” “The Problem of Pain,” “The Screwtape Letters,” “The Chronicles of Narnia,” and “The Space Trilogy.” One might assume that a distinguished writer would have clarity on how to grieve properly. However, following the death of his cherished wife, Lewis found himself in turmoil. He shouted at God and questioned the beliefs he had once firmly advocated in his literature. Understandably, he sought solace in writing as a means to alleviate some of the anguish he was enduring.

Reluctant to venture out and purchase paper, Lewis utilized every notebook available in his home to express his frustrations regarding loss. Eventually, as he attained a sense of acceptance with his profound sorrow, he informed his publisher about the material he had created. The publisher expressed interest in transforming the assembled notes into a book. However, Lewis felt uneasy about having his most intimate and uncertain thoughts exposed to the public. He ultimately consented to have his grief journals published as “A Grief Observed” under the pseudonym N.W. Clerk. Once the book was released, Lewis’ acquaintances, who were aware of his significant pain, recommended that he read “A Grief Observed.” Nobody ever realized Lewis was behind the writing. It was only following Lewis’ passing that the publisher was permitted to reissue the book under his actual name. The book serves as a resource for anyone in mourning. It reveals that grief is a profoundly spiritual journey that can bring us nearer to God, provided we are willing to embrace it instead of attempting to suppress or deny our emotions.

A great fear

“No one ever informed me that sorrow felt so much like terror.” With this statement, Lewis commenced “A Grief Observed.” Fear accompanies all forms of grief. We dread the additional responsibilities that could be placed upon us. We worry that others will shun us or bombard us with unwanted attention. We fear solitude, yet we also fear being surrounded by others who might inquire too deeply. Addressing this fear, Lewis remarked that he appreciated the presence of others but would rather they converse amongst themselves rather than engage him directly.

Lewis also feared what existence might entail in the absence of his beloved. We honestly fear that everything will be out of place in our lives again. Lewis described that fear as an “invisible blanket between the world and me.” The issue arises when we fail to allow God to come underneath the blanket with us.

Loss of Faith

One heartbreaking facet of grief can be the profound sensation that God is absent. During our deepest despair, it may be challenging to sense God’s presence. Lewis believed that God had let him down in his sorrow. He expressed, “Approach Him when your need is urgent, when all other assistance proves futile, and what do you discover? A door shut in your face?” This sentiment is not rare.

When sorrow becomes too intense, it can be difficult to perceive, recognize, or experience anything aside from our own suffering. Even while on the cross, Jesus exclaimed, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” (Mt 27:46). Our Savior was referencing Psalm 22. The Old Testament provides numerous accounts of individuals who believed God had left them in their sorrow. The entire Book of Job narrates a tale of furious grief. Mourning can envelop us in such profound darkness that it requires significant trust and bravery to lift the heavy veil and allow a glimpse of God’s light to penetrate our lives once more.

Struggling to trust

We must allow God into our lives since He is the sole one capable of genuinely healing our sorrow. Yet, this is challenging for us if we believe that God is the one who caused the death, who didn’t heal the illness, or who allowed the mishap to occur. Typically, we don’t place our trust in someone who has inflicted pain on us. Lewis noted that he wasn’t at risk of losing his faith in God. Rather, Lewis believed the more significant risk was that he was “beginning to believe such terrible things about Him.”

It is only human that, when faced with adversity, we seek someone to hold responsible. Our logical mind may remind us that misfortunes can befall virtuous individuals. We understand that mortality is inevitable for everyone. Yet, in our moments of pain, we often direct our frustration at someone. Frequently, that target is God. We tend to overlook that it was humanity, through original sin, that distanced itself from God, rather than God distancing Himself from us. We forget that the collective free will and poor decisions made by all individuals lead to death for everyone. Free will results in conflicts, accidents, illness, and mistreatment. God does not intervene to prevent every instance of evil. When He does intervene, it is a miracle. However, miracles are not an everyday occurrence. This can lead us to reevaluate our trust in God.

Feeling like a leper

Let’s face it: We feel uneasy in the presence of sorrow. Until we encounter profound grief ourselves, we can struggle to find the right words or actions when interacting with someone in mourning. It may even seem simpler to keep our distance. The first occasion I faced intense grief was following my father’s passing. It was then that I understood I needed to apologize to my close friend who had lost her mother a few years prior. Since I had not yet experienced grief, I was unsure of what to say to her or how to support her during that time. Lewis believed that his friends had also let him down. Their discomfort around him was palpable. His frustrated remark was, “maybe the grieving should be confined to special communities like lepers.”

Isolation, nonetheless, is not the solution. Recall that during the most profound moment of sorrow imaginable, Mary, at the base of the cross, had the apostle John and other women present to provide her with support. If the Blessed Mother required others to aid her in enduring her sorrow, what leads us to believe we can manage alone? Often, it is those of us who are in mourning who must assist others in feeling at ease around us. It may be unjust, but it is simply the reality. When I expressed regret to my friend for not knowing how to assist her in her sorrow, she replied that at least I had consistently listened. We all need to seek someone who will hear us amidst our grief — someone who can listen with the compassion of God. We must ensure that we do not isolate ourselves.

Unexpected grief

We understand that grieving is necessary for a time. Nevertheless, Lewis was troubled by how sudden grief could be. He expressed, “Grief is like a bomber circling around and dropping its bombs.” He mentioned that he would rather endure physical suffering than face the unforeseen onslaughts of grief. Indeed, grief has a way of catching us off guard when we least anticipate it. Referring to his late wife, Lewis noted, “So many roads lead to (her).” Each time we encounter another one of those paths that evokes memories of our sorrow, we are overwhelmed with grief once again.

It may occur at home, among friends, at church, or while shopping. Similar to a dentist striking a nerve, a memory can suddenly resurface. It stings. Tears begin to flow. All we desire is to escape from it. However, it is only by confronting these emotions that we can evolve from them. Isolating ourselves at home will not shield us. Only when we step outside and confront the memories can we achieve peace and healing — even if it requires shedding some unanticipated tears along the way. During such moments, it is reassuring to remember that our uncomfortable tears are valuable to God. A lovely image offered to comfort us is found in the psalmist’s words to God: “are my tears not stored in your flask?” (Ps 56:9). We should never feel embarrassed to contribute a few more tears to that flask which God keeps so dear to His heart.

Is Lazarus the most significant saint?

Lewis slowly began to recognize that his sorrow was quite selfish. We believe we are grieving for the individual who has passed away. However, more often than not, we are lamenting that we are the ones left behind. It is often said that every life culminates as it should, since each person experiences exactly the number of days that God intended for them on this planet. Therefore, the departed have not lost anything. We are the ones who have! Once Lewis moved beyond his frustration with God — whom he previously referred to in his grief as the “Cosmic Sadist” — he understood that his wife was embraced by a compassionate God. He noted, “The desperate cry, ‘Come back,’ is entirely for my own benefit. … What could I possibly wish for her that could be worse? They refer to Stephen as the first martyr. Didn’t Lazarus have it even rougher?”

Lewis is alluding to the resurrection of Lazarus (cf. Jn 11:1-44). In this Gospel narrative, Jesus expresses profound sorrow over the passing of his dear friend. The briefest verse in all the Gospels states, “And Jesus wept” (Jn 11:35). However, shortly after, Jesus “shouted with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’” (Jn 11:43). Lewis, ultimately feeling comforted that his wife was at rest in God’s loving embrace, now perceived it as cruel to beckon someone back from death. He overlooked the fact that Lazarus returned so eagerly because he was drawn into the embrace of Jesus. Lewis concludes his book by asserting, “How wicked it would be, if we could, to summon the dead back!”

The emergence of favorable times

Over time, as Lewis expressed his sorrow in his journals, he wrote one morning, “Something quite surprising has occurred.” He observed that he had enjoyed a restful night. He felt content. He was no longer fatigued. And he came to the realization that he could recall his cherished wife without the pain, anger, and sadness that had previously shadowed every reflection of her. He joyfully noted in his journal that during moments when he mourned his wife the least, he “remembered her most vividly.” It is a fact that when our hearts bear the weight of grief, it can be challenging to recall fond memories. However, as we begin to release our sorrow, we can allow ourselves to embrace something positive, beautiful, and restorative. Lewis remarked, “It was as though the alleviation of sorrow removed an obstacle.”

Releasing our sorrow is not often simple. It demands extensive prayer. It requires a firm determination to embrace the future, instead of dwelling on the past. It necessitates yielding to God’s will. However, as we begin this process, we will start to notice that there is still positivity in our lives. Lewis notes, “You can’t see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears.” Thankfully, we have a God who will wipe away our tears, if we allow Him to. He will transform our “mourning into dancing” (Ps 30:12).

A Prayer for the Grief Journey

Dear Lord, please walk with me through my time of grief. Be the light that will lead me out of my darkness. Help me to see that grief is not a place where You want me to stay. Let me learn the lessons, I must learn as I struggle with this overwhelming sadness. When I want to just hide myself under a blanket, please lift the corner and gently pull me out. Forgive me for the times when I get angry with You or cannot seem to trust You. You know that in the depths of my heart, buried under all this pain, I still love You. And I need You! Only You can lead me out of this dark sadness. Help me find ways to forgive and stay connected with the people who may not understand me now. Remind me that others do not intentionally mean to hurt me. Give me strength for the times when grief catches me off guard. Let me feel You always right beside me, ready to dry my tears. Help me to find peace knowing my dear one is in Your loving arms. Open my eyes to how selfish it is for me to want them back. Please help me to find joy in a new and different normal, but a normal where You will always and forever be by my side. Thank You, dear Lord.

Getting over it

One of the most challenging statements to hear while mourning is when someone suggests that we simply need to move on. Lewis likens the experience of losing someone dear to enduring significant surgery. He explains that recovering from the loss of an appendix may be straightforward since it never really held much value for us. However, we can never fully recover from the loss of a leg. Its absence is felt daily. We will not be the same again. While we may heal and even relearn to walk, our existence will continue, but it will differ significantly. Lewis notes, “Currently, I am adjusting to navigating with crutches.” This new chapter doesn’t have to be negative. We can find laughter once more. We can experience joy, hope, and love again, albeit in a different form. Perhaps with a slight limp.

Lewis proposes that, to a certain extent, holding on to our sorrow is a type of pride. We enjoy embodying what he refers to as “tragic heroes.” He arrives at the conclusion that if our beloved ones who have passed could communicate with us, they would implore us to move on. He determines that he will approach his wife with joy as frequently as he can, because, “The less I grieve for her, the closer I feel to her.” Endless mourning can create a barrier not just between us and the living, but also between us and God, as well as between us and those we have lost.

As we reflect on the various aspects of Lewis’ sorrow, we must remember that each person’s grief is unique. However, it can be reassuring to recognize that even the most knowledgeable individuals can face a challenging battle with grief and emerge from it with revitalized faith, hope, tranquility, love, and even happiness.

Susan M. Erschen writes from Missouri.

The Healing Power of Writing

Lewis’ book, “A Grief Observed,” is a wonderful example of how writing can help us heal from grief. Lewis went from a man who called God “an evil Sadist,” to a man who wrote, “I know the two great commandments, and I better get on with them.” Through his writing, he was able to bring himself to a place where he was ready to again love God and his neighbors — even those who had seemed to fail him while he grieved.It is not just because C.S. Lewis was a famous author that writing was healing for him. Many grief counselors encourage those who are grieving to keep a journal. Here’s why: The thoughts in our brain are circular. They keep going round and round. We might think over and over, “I can’t do this! This is not fair.” Our brain loves to play with these thoughts like a cat with a ball. However, writing is linear. We hate writing the same thing over and over again. Being told to write something 100 times is the worst punishment children can be given in school. So, once we write in our journal, “I can’t do this,” our mind is ready for a new thought. It may keep rambling around with some other complaints, but eventually it might ask us, “What could you do?” or “What would your loved one want you to do?” Then from our pen will flow ideas and thoughts that would never come if we just kept our heads buried in a pillow crying, “I can’t do this.” One excellent way to start a healing writing practice is by writing letters to God. All we have to do is pick up a pen or sit down at a computer and begin with, “Dear God ….” In many ways, writing to God can be easier than talking to him. And at some point, we may even feel that God has taken over and is writing words and ideas we did not even know were in us. That is God whispering the perfect healing words to us.