Her absence is like the sky
Did you ever know, dear, how much you took away with you when you left? You have stripped me even of my past, even of the things we never shared. (p. 61)
Once very near the end I said, ‘If you can—if it is allowed—come to me when I too am on my death bed.’ ‘Allowed!’ she said. ‘Heaven would have a job to hold me; and as for Hell, I’d break it into bits.’ (p. 75)
Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything. (p. 11)
Does grief finally subside into boredom tinged by faint nausea? (p.36)
Meanwhile, where is God? [...] When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him [...] turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be—or so it feels—welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. (p. 6)
A Grief Observed
C.S. Lewis
