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angel-of-grie-Timothy-Faust

I’m hurtling down a very deep, very dark abyss;
Jagged rocks, thistles and brambles cutting into my skin.
Everywhere I bleed
Everything hurts

The journey down is brutal.
It is not kind.
It is not pretty.
Blood smeared on the rocks, dirt under my broken finger nails.
Down, down, down, I’m falling.
There is no hope here.
If there is, I can’t see it.
Or perhaps, I do not want it.

Down, down, down, I go.
But not quietly, or passively
I’m fighting wildly and loudly.
No, I’m not afraid to go down
I’m afraid to keep this red-eyed, snarling beast locked in.
I want to let it out,

To share this soot colored fury with the universe
The darkened, blood-smeared walls,
Ricochet with anger, disappointment, betrayal, and  rage.

Down, down, down, I go.
Everything is swirling around me.
The darkness is in the air I breathe.
And then, almost before I reach rock-bottom, it catches me.
Cussing, kicking, shoving, I shout:
“Let me go! Damn you! Let me go!”

Silence.
It holds me still.
I’m suspended in the air,
Still in the midst of darkness,
But it holds me still.

No words.
No saccharine words of sympathy.
Just stillness… And silent support.
Then…
From the depths of my soul
I bellow out in despair
Every emotion has a name, everything I feel carries.
So strong, it carries to the top and let’s in a little light,
Not enough to see everything at once.
Just enough to see all around me.

I straighten up myself,
Right my soul.
They are still here, the demons.
I can hear them, feel them sniping at my heels.
But I can also sense it— something higher, stronger, kinder.

So I rise,
With shaky feet,
Bruised beyond belief,
Broken beyond reason
And I start the journey up…

In loving memory of my late father, Commodore Odemairo Francis Uriri Senior (Rtd). July 16 1954 – January 2, 2015

***********************

 The image of the Angel of Grief  is by Timothy Faust via Flickr

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

4 Responses to “What Grief Feels Like… | by Onomarie Uriri | A Threnody” Subscribe

  1. Noelle February 4, 2015 at 12:57 am #

    Powerful, poignant. May you find comfort in the silence and you be held in ways you don’t expect.

  2. Sandile February 4, 2015 at 4:42 am #

    Walked me through scarry journey

  3. Oma Areh February 5, 2015 at 9:06 am #

    These words stuck to me;

    ”There is no hope here.
    If there is, I can’t see it.
    Or perhaps, I do not want it.

    —Every emotion has a name, everything I feel carries. So strong, it carries to the top and let’s in a little light,
    Not enough to see everything at once.
    Just enough to see all around me. ”

    Words will never do, sometimes they might shed a little light on the depths of the agony within. It’s how she gradually chooses to cling to the light or the sheer sense of it. How she understands that she will never completely be healed of it but she decides to rise.
    And one day the wounds will heal into scars and the light that appeared dim will burn brighter. May you find comfort even in this stark reality.
    May your dear father rest in peace. Amen

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