Should I stop journaling?

I was reading CS Lewis’ account of his own journey of grief. His wife too had died of cancer. This giant of a writer was famously known for such well-loved classics as“Chronicles of Narnia” and several other books carrying strong Christian themes. But shortly after his wife’s tragic death, he too had found solace in penning his reflections as a way to relieve his grief.  His writing was published in a book entitled “A Grief Observed”.

A caring colleague had presented this book to me recently as a birthday gift.  It was a very thoughtful gesture indeed.

In his book, CS Lewis wrote that “there is something new to be chronicled every day.  Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.” He had found that jotting down his thoughts had served as a kind of “safety valve” and a “defence against total collapse”.  But he made it a point to limit his jottings, confining to filling up the empty pages in the books he can find in his house to map out his sorrows.

I suppose great minds think alike?

What a laugh. For me to even dare see myself as an equal to the greatly influential and prolific CS Lewis. Surely I am jesting. His greatness is in another league. And a far higher one. We may be a kindred spirit, brothers in arms as far as sharing the pain of losing our spouses. But the similarities end there. 

Yet, at some point I need to remind myself. Enough is enough. I cannot persist with this habit. How many times and different ways can I recite my grief and pain? This same recurring theme of missing my belated wife makes agonising reading. And what do I hope to achieve? Is all this journaling truly helping me recover and get on with life?

As I had previously shared, by writing, I had wanted to record my thoughts and frame of mind during this very difficult period of my life. But how it could really help me and what useful purpose it could serve in my future years is only speculative.  I might even be appalled to re-read these postings, at a later point in my life. What might appear to be a tribute to my dearest wife might later appear to be doing disservice to her memory and dignity.  For one, Jenny is typically guarded about her privacy. She would have frowned on all this open sharing of our affection, laying bare intimate details of our relationship.

But I suppose Jenny is not here anymore now to complain about how she might feel and to stop me. Not even in my dreams. I would expect her to show up more often in my dreams when I sleep. But going by the past months since her passing on this rarely happened. Not that I sleep soundly on most nights. Usually my sleep is filled with a lot of dreams – weird and restless bizarre ones at times, but she makes only rare cameo appearances if she showed up at all. If she could appear just once and raise a hackle or even a simple quiet word of objection. That might be enough. It will wake me up from this stupor and prompt me to drop off this newly acquired habit.

It is hard to say that I have moved into another phase. The weight of grief seemed to have picked up over the last few days. Perhaps I have been less active. There has not been enough of distractions aside from work.  I could blame it on the haze.  The choking pall of smoke hung persistently around our island. It has affected the lifestyle of nearly everyone in this country, who now spend a lot more time indoors.  My regular jogging sessions have to be put on hold. 

I cannot say for sure that I will not return to this blog. I may well come back sooner than I think. But I will try resisting.  There is life out there. Even in a world where my beloved Jenny does not reside anymore. If I search and strain my ears hard enough I might even hear her urging me to stop and get on with life, hard as it would be without her.

I have read CS Lewis’ “A Grief Observed”.  At less than 80 pages it is not a heavy read and I have twice read most parts. Now, have I written enough in this blog site for my own grief to be sufficiently observed? I wonder.


“Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed