Lewis Sonnet

A friend at work tonight asked me, "Doesn't it make you mad - seeing some of the people in this world popping out babies while you aren't?" And this Lewis sonnet instantly was in my head. No, I didn't start reciting it. But it was there.


You think that we who do not shout and shake
Our fists at God when youth or bravery die
Have colder blood or hearts less apt to ache
Than yours who rail. I know you do. Yet why?
You have what sorrow always longs to find,
Someone to blame, some enemy in chief;
Anger's the anesthetic of the mind,
It does men good, it fumes away their grief.
We feel the stroke like you; so far our fate
Is equal. After that, for us begin
Half-hopeless labours, learning not to hate,
And then to want, and then (perhaps) to win
A high, unearthly comfort, angel's food,
That seems at first mockery to flesh and blood.

Thank God for Lewis. His words are always a life raft. Because anger is just a handsbreadth away. Every month that passes, I feel like a big silent space somewhere in me grows just a little bigger. I'm not sure why that's the image that leaps to mind, but it is. These first few days, I always feel acutely aware of the place in my body where someone could be growing, but isn't, and I feel very ... still or empty. Thankfully, the sharpness of the pain I experienced, say, 6 months ago, has passed. This is much more like a prolonged sigh that sounds a lot like "someday".

Someday.

Meanwhile. There are things to do.