Lament for a Son

Wolterstorff provides a sensory description of his son Eric’s burial. He recalls the warm June day, the squeaking straps of the gardeners lowering the body, curious neighborhood children observing, and the heavy slab being placed over the grave. He emphasizes the surreal nature of the experience, repeating, “It was me” (42), as if he himself were buried that day.

Wolterstorff then incorporates an extended quote from Meditation XVII by poet John Donne. This passage speaks to the interconnectedness of humanity, likening mankind to a book in which each person is a chapter. Donne suggests that death is a translation rather than an ending, and that God acts as the translator. The quote emphasizes that every death affects all of humanity, using the metaphor of a bell tolling to call everyone, not just the deceased. This reflection helps Wolterstorff contextualize his personal loss within a broader human experience.

The narrative shifts to describe how Wolterstorff’s perception of the world has altered since Eric’s death. Colors appear different to him now, and lines from hymns and psalms that once seemed unremarkable now resonate deeply with him. The author finds it particularly challenging to look at photographs of Eric as a young child, feeling that these images are more difficult to bear than those of him as an adult.

Wolterstorff describes a profound sense of finality that has settled over his life. He feels that at the deepest levels of his existence, something fundamental has ended. The author divides his life into “before” and “after” Eric’s death, echoing a friend’s sentiment that losing her husband young meant the end of her youth. For Wolterstorff, while his youth was already over, he understands this sentiment of a definitive break in life’s continuity. This sense of an ending is particularly acute in places where he and Eric shared special moments.

The author grapples with the realization that no new experiences can be shared with Eric; all their moments together are now sealed in the past. He describes the pain of remembering joyful moments. Wolterstorff feels the weight of being the sole bearer of these memories, emphasizing the loneliness of grief. He struggles with the finality of their relationship and the need to somehow continue living despite this enormous loss.

Questioning whether he can ever be truly happy again, Wolterstorff suggests that sorrow has become the underlying tone of his existence rather than an occasional state. He ponders whether happiness can only be experienced in fleeting moments now. The author explores the depth of his grief, likening it to a journey into the depths of his soul. He questions how deep souls can go, emphasizing the profound and seemingly bottomless nature of his sorrow.

Wolterstorff also contemplates the loss his son has experienced through death. He lists the many experiences Eric will never have, including seeing trees, hearing music, reading and writing books, visiting cathedrals, marrying, and even climbing mountains. This reflection adds another layer to the author’s grief, as he mourns not only his own loss but also the life experiences denied to his son. Wolterstorff describes a recurring dream of people disappearing, which he interprets as a subconscious representation of his loss.

The author details how his relationship with the world has changed since Eric’s death. While he still appreciates beauty and experiences moments of joy, he finds that his passion and striving have diminished. He no longer reaches for what the world promises, only accepting what it gives. Wolterstorff discusses his difficulty in engaging with previously enjoyable activities, finding them too life-affirming in the face of his grief. He describes being unable to jog, feeling paralyzed when going swimming with friends, and struggling with music. The author questions why all music seems so affirmative, even finding Brahms’s Requiem too lacking in “brokenness” to match his emotional state. He wonders if there is any music that truly fits the profound brokenness he feels, highlighting the challenge of finding artistic expressions that adequately capture the depth of grief.

The author criticizes some approaches to grief that encourage turning away from death and rationalizing the pain. He rejects methods that avoid looking death and pain directly in the face or that focus solely on one’s inner grief process. Wolterstorff insists on facing the reality of his son’s death directly, refusing to ignore its awful impact. He commits to accepting joy when it comes but will not look away from the fact of Eric’s death, feeling he owes this to both his son and to God.

Wolterstorff describes the dissonance between his imagination, which sometimes pictures his son as still alive, and his conscious knowledge of Eric’s death. He shares poignant moments, such as when he heard his son’s voice calling out to him as he moved Eric’s belongings. Reflecting on the isolating nature of grief, Wolterstorff emphasizes that it separates the bereaved not only from those not grieving but also from fellow mourners. He stresses that each person’s grief is unique, with its own character and “inscape,” and should not be judged. The author notes that each person’s sorrow must be allowed to work itself out without judgment, and that the struggle to regain life often prevents one from reaching out to others.

Finally, Wolterstorff explores why the death of a child is particularly painful. He contrasts it with the death of a parent, which, while difficult, is somewhat expected. The author describes in detail the process of raising a child from helplessness to independence, and the years of protection, sustenance, and guidance. He speaks of embracing the child’s future within himself, as he forms plans and hopes. Wolterstorff expresses the devastating feeling of having his son slip from his protective grasp after 25 years of care, leaving him with the agonizing image of Eric being “smashed” as he fell to his death.