C.S Lewis, autorul celebrelor Cronici din Narnia, a scris A grief observed in anul ce a urmat mortii sotiei sale, Joy Gresham, in incercarea de a gasi un sens existentei lui Dumnezeu si suferintei. E mai mult un jurnal al procesului intim si anevoios de vindecare (publicat mai intai sub pseudonim), desi eu speram sa gasesc in carte o radiografie a pierderii cat mai obiectiva posibil.
Speram sa inteleg mai multe despre teama si neputinta pe care le simtim in fata pierderii, de ce la aflarea verdictului final, oricat te-ai pregati, tot pici in genunchi (flight), tipi de durere (fight) sau impietresti, amortesti (freeze) pentru o perioada, cat dureaza efectele sau cat de universale sunt simptomele.
Am dat insa peste o poveste de dragoste despre care nu stiam nimic, nu ca A grief observed ar fi cartea unei povesti de dragoste, insa asa am ales sa o privesc. Povestea am aflat-o din introducerea cartii, facuta de de Douglas H. Gresham, unul dintre cei doi fii pe care Joy i-a avut din casatoria anterioara cu William L. Gresham, asa ca citatele fac parte de data aceasta din introducerea unei carti.
Pe scurt, C.S Lewis si-a cunoscut sotia si prima iubire cand avea 56 de ani si a pierdut-o in urma unui cancer osos, dupa numai 4 ani de casnicie. Cand s-au casatorit, amandoi stiau ca ea este bolnava si nu vor ramane prea mult timp impreuna.
Fratele lui Lewis declara despre relatia celor doi, relatie care a inspirat si filmele Shadowlands (1985 si 1983): “For Jack the attraction was at first undoubtedly intellectual. Joy was the only woman whom he had met … who had a brain which matched his own in suppleness, in width of interest, and in analytical grasp, and above all in humour and a sense of fun.”
Douglas H. Gresham:
- He had written also about the great poets and their songs of love, but somehow neither his learning nor his experiences had ever prepared him for the combination of both the great love and the great loss which is its counterpoint;
- What makes A Grief Observed even more remarkable is that the author was an exceptional man, and the woman whom he mourns, an exceptional woman. Both of them were writers, both of them were academically talented, both were committed Christians, but here the similarities end. It fascinates me how God sometimes brings people together who are so far apart, in so many ways, and merges them into that spiritual homogeneity which is marriage.
- Helen Joy Gresham (née Davidman), the “H.” referred to in this book, was perhaps the only woman whom Jack ever met who was his intellectual equal and also as well-read and widely educated as he was himself. They shared another common factor: they were both possessed of total recall. Jack never forgot anything he had read, and neither did she.
- To understand even a little of the agony which this book contains, and the courage it demonstrates, we must first acknowledge that love between them. As a child, I watched these two remarkable people come together, first as friends, then, in an unusual progression, as husband and wife, and finally as lovers. I was part of the friendship; I was an adjunct to the marriage, but I stood aside from the love. By that I do not mean that I was in any way deliberately excluded, but rather that their love was something of which I could not, and should not, be a part.
- Even then in my early teen years I stood aside and watched the love grow between these two, and was able to be happy for them. It was a happiness tinged with both sadness and fear, for I knew, as did both Mother and Jack, that this, the best of times, was to be brief and was to end in sorrow. I had yet to learn that all human relationships end in pain—it is the price that our imperfection has allowed Satan to exact from us for the privilege of love. I had the resilience of youth upon which to fall when Mother died; for me there would be other loves to find and no doubt in time to lose or be lost by. But for Jack this was the end of so much which life had for so long denied him and then briefly held out to him like a barren promise. For Jack there were none of the hopes (however dimly I might see them) of bright sunlit meadows and life-light and laughter. I had Jack to lean upon, poor Jack only had me.
- What many of us discover in this outpouring of anguish is that we know exactly what he is talking about. Those of us who have walked this same path, or are walking it as we read this book, find that we are not, after all, as alone as we thought. C. S. Lewis, the writer of so much that is so clear and so right, the thinker whose acuity of mind and clarity of expression enabled us to understand so much, this strong and determined Christian, he too fell headlong into the vortex of whirling thoughts and feelings and dizzily groped for support and guidance deep in the dark chasm of grief. How I wish that he had been blessed with just such a book as this. If we find no comfort in the world around us, and no solace when we cry to God, if it does nothing else for us, at least this book will help us to face our grief, and to “misunderstand a little less completely.”
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