A Grief Observed

C.S. Lewis is unprepared for the initial emotional onslaught of grief he experiences after Helen dies. He is stunned by the experience, feeling as if he is “mildly drunk or concussed” (3). The enormity of his loss permeates his existence, becoming “a sort of invisible blanket between the world and [Lewis]” (3). People treat him differently, he observes, noting the discomfort of friends and acquaintances he encounters. Although he is able to focus on his work, Lewis finds it difficult to muster the energy for ordinary tasks.

Lewis is trapped in the throes of all consuming grief: “I not only live each day in endless grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief” (10). He experiences a roller coaster of complex emotions, is seemingly almost fine and reasonable one minute, then comes crashing down the next, feeling guilty for feeling better. Although concerned that keeping a journal may, in fact, exacerbate his grief, Lewis decides that writing helps him “get a little outside it,” while noting that Helen would dispute that assertion (10). 

Lewis discovers that he is no long able to believe in an afterlife for Helen, as he did following the death of a friend; he desperately wants to, but can no longer be sure it exists.