“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is  so uninteresting.Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me” (C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed,1961).
There are sudden openings of emptiness. Thus, a complex, disordered, confused, fearful horizon appears and, as Lewis wrote, takes off words, thoughts and relationships. A horizon that modifies our way of seeing and perceiving the world, halfway between the perception of a finite, limited, mortal humanity and the (sometimes contrasting) desire for an infinite, however it manifests itself and is understood. The question posed, then, takes the form of the following question: how to grow and help grow (this is what education is all about) also through the governance of one's own finitude-which cannot but admit even suffering, detachment, loss-and, in this way, achieve that wisdom capable of giving meaning to life and nurturing hope for the future?