Coming Back to Pierre

Recently someone asked me to write more about Pierre. My response was, in hindsight, ungracious, since I pretended not to have anything to write about. But truth be known, it is hard for me to write about him now because the pain is still so fresh.

Recently I have read C.S. Lewis' wonderful book "A Grief Observed". I found in this slim volume more wisdom and clear unfettered thought about the universality of the process than I could have known till this day. For those readers who would know about what I am experiencing, a brief encounter with this book will tell you all you need to know. It is as if he took the very thoughts and feelings and words right out of my head, heart and gut.

This week I have been most ill, and in the throes of restless nights and ruminant discomfort come the thoughts of even worse nights to come, The cycle of doubt and uncertainty begins to rage and and I, with so few reserves at this point, find myself in the unfamiliar position of doubting my strength to carry on.

Fortunately the stomach virus or whatever it was has passed and I am now on the road to recovery. Still, when I was so very ill, tossing and turning in bed, I could not help but think that the many manifestations of grief are still unknown to me. Am I ill because I grieve, or am I simply ill? I have no idea.

Nor do I expect to. How, in just a few months, could I possibly explore the depths and possibilities that grief has brought me? Just knowing that it will be a long time healing doesn't help, of course. I want to be healed. I want the very thing I cannot have, not now, maybe not ever. The awful rapacious thoughts that consume my mind at night--when rest should be it's goal--are taking a toll on it, and I fear that no amount of writing, or certainly tears shed are going to make any difference in the way I feel.

I can say this. No day, no hour, no minute goes by that I still do not think of him. The violent flood of emotion that consumed me early on is now merely a raging torrent. That is some progress, I guess, but each day brings a new reminder; the arrow-like thought that pierces before it is even visible. I look down and there it is. I dare not pull it out lest all the life force drain from my body, yet I cannot continue to fight so wounded. So I retreat, waiting to find my strength. I'll come back.