I may not sleep for years.

This is triage.

Can you stand? Can you walk? If so, we need you.

That is how it feels right now. The emotions in this place are debilitating, but there is still a need to walk. There is still a need to move. People need to be fed, and I myself am hungry. We cannot go to sleep right now.

What does love look like in a moment such as this?

What is the meaning of hope?

Who am I in light of what has happened?

What do I have to offer the world just now? What do I have to give? Can I give anything? Yes. I can give something. But what? I am laying down, crying. What can I give? I am walking down the street, raging. What can I give? I am beside myself, talking to my lover, uncertain about what to do for our child. What can I give?

Now would be an easy time to forget. Forgetting is a familiar comfort. The world will encourage me to sleep. To forget. The world will provide me countless other things to chew on. Cud. A salt lick. Anything but the truth.

But I cannot sleep. I may not sleep for years.

 

 
Amy Humphries