“There was a real railway accident,” said Aslan softly. “Your father and mother and all of you are—as you used to call it in the Shadowlands—dead. The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.” And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
I told myself yesterday that I wouldn’t do this today. Writing helps me process, but posting on Facebook is like allowing people to peek into my soul. For an introvert, that’s not a comfortable feeling. But I have a deep need to write, so here it goes.
Last summer, I described my bout with breast cancer as fighting off an army of zombie Amish beavers. I never could see reality like other people. Since childhood, my world has been peopled by elves, talking animals, and starships. Personifying everything is how I deal with things. Now I see my grief over my loss of Kiki as being a lighthouse lashed by a hurricane. There are bands of high winds, driving rain, and crashing waves, then lulls. Sometimes, you can even glimpse a clear sky while there are other times the clouds are so massive, gray and low that you think you could reach out and touch them. I’m the lighthouse, called to keep the light burning and to stand firm in the face of a raging sea. The last couple days have been good. Winds were down and there was a low tide. This morning started out with a gale-force grief. I so miss my daughter. I hate when I have a joke, or a song that I would normally share with her, and she isn’t here to listen. I hate when I feel tired or achy, and I can’t complain to her (Kiki would never let me get away with too much self-pity. She would say, “Aw, I know it’s hard. Now get in there and work!” The ending of Lewis’ Last Battle has always been my favorite part of the Narnian Tales. Kiki’s too. The last thing I said to my daughter was, “Goodnight, sweetheart. See you in the morning.” The morning I was referring to was this—the last, great Day when Jesus returns, when all sadness and sin is undone, and we finally see Him as He is. So happy for her. So much sadness for me. One thing I know. I will see her in the Morning.