Joys that Sting

Moving apparently requires a good deal of reflection for me.

Moving in the office is particularly hard, because it's the place I'm most likely to run across Nathan's handwriting.

You might not expect his handwriting to be that big of a deal, but it is so distinctive- and was such an intimate part of my life... How many people's handwriting can you recognize- especially in the era of e-mail? Your family members and-- one or two of your friends? ...Maybe it's only because I'm a writer, but to me his handwriting is like his voice and so it's hard to run across unexpectedly.

I think the only thing harder is to know that at some point I won't run across it unexpectedly anymore.

At some point there will be an end to the "discoveries."

It probably sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, but the worst part of death is that there is never any more.

What I have is it.

Kara found me a poem, a while back. I'll share it with you, because C.S. Lewis was a brilliant man.

Joys that Sting

"Oh doe not die," says Donne, "for I shall hate
All women so." How false this sentence rings.
Women? But in a life made desolate
It is the joys once shared that have the stings.

To take the old walks alone, or not at all,
To order one pint where I ordered two,
To think of, and then not make, the small
Time-honoured joke (senseless to all but you);

To laugh (oh, one'll laugh), to talk upon
Themes that we talked upon when you were there,
To make some poor pretence of going on,
Be kind to one's old friends, and seem to care,

While no one (O God) through the years will say
The simplest, common word in just your way.

--C.S. Lewis

I recognize a lot of things in the poem, but it's the "(O God)" in the last sentence that gets me... because there is so much in those two words. It's the sorrow in the realization that he is gone that keeps dawning on you in moments you least expect it. It's the despair of never hearing his laugh again. It's the anger of having your plan and your life stolen away. It's the quiet fear of a life alone and without him. It's the stricken terror that what you are saying is true...

 and the hopeful prayer that it isn't.