Notes on Grief

. I wince now at the words I said in the past to grieving friends. "Find peace in your memories," I used to say. To have love snatched from you, especially unexpectedly, and then to be told to turn to memories. Rather than succor, my memories bring eloquent stabs of pain that say, "This is what you will never again have."

What does not feel like the deliberate prodding of wounds is a simple "I'm sorry," because in its banality it presumes nothing. Ndo, in Igbo, comforts more, a word that is "sorry" with a metaphysical heft, a word with borders wider than mere "sorry." Concrete and sincere memories from those who knew him comfort the mos