“Cancer, and cancer, and cancer. My mother, my father, my wife. I wonder who is next in the queue.” —C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
I never wanted to have this in common with C.S. Lewis. I never wanted to major in suffering.
Yet I am here, and she is there. She is resplendent in memorandum… and I cannot write fast enough. And I am left holding a copy of C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed. As Lewis observes his particular grief, I too observe my own. C.S. Lewis got it.
I would rather have other things in common with the man. I would have much rather been an “Inkling”—instead we are widowers observing grief.