Lewis said of life that this world was merely the shadowlands of something more, something greater. He had the artist's vision of Narnia and a faith that made him believe in heaven and an afterlife. More than that, he learned through his love for his wife, a woman dying of cancer whom he married in the hospital, that suffering and happiness, and more importantly, suffering and growth are inextricably linked. The pain he felt during his wife's illness enhanced the joy he felt during her remission. The pain he felt when she died eventually pushed him to grow in his faith and understanding of the world. The shadows make us recognize the light.
As I consider this, instantly I see a path winding through the woods. Light blues are covered by dark blues and then blacks and then the whiteness of light bursts through. Leaves sway and the shadows move. Clouds pass and the shadows darken. Trees stand shoulder to shoulder and darkness covers the path altogether.
Life is a shadowland. Sometimes the shadows are darker than others. Sometimes we lose our way on the path and forget to even look for light.
Recently I completed a semester long class on the writings and life of Virginia Woolf. As I talked to a friend about the course he said, "Wasn't she the one who jumped in a river with rocks in her pocket?" Yes, she was. Why would she do it? What makes anyone do it? She didn't want to be a burden to her husband, didn't want to impede his work, the Nazis were coming, she was struggling with depression... "So killing herself would make it easier for her husband to work?"
The questions led me down a path thinking about suicide and depression. Having experienced two episodes of depression, one not medicated, one medicated, I would be lying to say I didn't understand the urge, didn't understand the total severity of self-loathing, didn't understand the desire to drop off the plane of existence and escape. But I share my friend's reaction to her suicide. When I read Woolf's biography I felt unaccountably, almost irrationally, angry with her, with the futility of her act--perhaps because of the anger I feel towards myself about my depression, perhaps because of the grief overwhelming that consumes when you know someone who has committed suicide. Depression is a greedy disease. It takes away its victim's perspective. It stems from deep forgotten pain and chemical imbalances.
I think the reason it angers me so much is because there is no way to control depression. Like addiction, you have to surrender to it before you can be released. Or if not to the disease, then to God. Otherwise you are simply trying to harness a stream. A former student of mine committed suicide. His father walked into the house to hear the gun go off. The grief of that loss still lives in my knuckles. The senselessness of pain shook me for days.
But pain wakes us up. Pain pushes us forward, whether we believe we are ready to move ahead or not. Lewis explained God allows us to suffer because, simply put, that's what it takes.
I feel blessed to have walked through shadows; blessed because it makes me recognize light. I know there will be dark times again, but I know how to recognize when the path becomes too dark; I am blessed enough to have beacons available to me--friends, doctors, medicine, support groups.
Perhaps I haven't reached the darkest part of my path, but I hope, that like Lewis, I have learned something from suffering. Were it not for that unhappiness, I couldn't feel alive today as I do. I couldn't recognize the light around me, the miracle of being with friends, of being inspired by powerful words, of going to the theater and losing myself in another world, a world not on this plane of shadowlands.
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