Someday, Maybe

by Onyi Nwabineli

Nobody tells you that irrational hope is a side effect of grief. And they should because it is dangerous.

But grief torches your capacity for both sympathy and empathy. I am nothing but a selfish collection of exposed nerve endings.

Grief is not neat. Pain is not dignified. Both are ugly, visceral things. They rip holes through you and burst forth when they see fit. They are constant, controlling companions, and if they don’t destroy you or your relationships with others, they certainly go a long way to damaging you, disfiguring you internally and altering your existence so much so that when you are lucid enough to look at yourself, at your life, you are astounded (and often disgusted) by what you find staring back at you.

Nobody tells you that to grieve is to shoulder the expectations of others. The requirement is that you mourn in silence, cloak yourself in dignity and make others comfortable. I do not know how. Therefore I grieve out loud.