(My) Grief (Un)Observed

This morning I started reading C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed.  Between reading the first part of that book, and a conversation with my brother and some old friends from home over a late lunch in rainy Coeur D'Alene this afternoon, I was reminded that I don't really know how to grieve.

One of the introductions to the book pointed out that this is the account of one man's grief, hence the little word "a" at the beginning of the title.  There is no way someone could write a book titled Grief Observed and have it make any sense to anyone.  That comment pointed my attention to the title of my post, which was originally just A Grief Observed.  But in reality, this is not "a" grief.  It's my grief.  And when I'm being honest, I haven't taken time to observe it.  I feel like my grief is sitting just below the surface of my life, threatening to spill over the edges at any moment.  I spend a lot of time and energy keeping everything balanced and calm, but every once in a while a kind word or a shared memory or someone's honest revelation of their own grief tips the scales and a big ole splash of grief comes pouring out.  And yet, there is never less grief.  I'm guessing that until I empty the whole bucket it will just continue to grow, no matter how many times I spill some.  I long to empty the whole bucket, but at the same time, I'm a little frightened.  I'm not exactly sure who I am without the bucket.  There's been something in the bucket for ten and a half years, and in some respects who I am today is shaped around that full bucket.

One of the friends we had lunch with today commented that they are always impressed because my brother and I always seem to have hope.  I was a little shocked, primarily because I don't feel very hopeful right now.  But if other people can see it, maybe it really is there, and maybe the very Hope that raised Christ from the dead will work on my behalf to empty that bucket and fill in the bucket-sized hole left in my life.  I'm thinking chances are pretty good.  Here's to observed grief- may there be some coming my way soon.