Grief is an Ocean

For Lindy

All of us will someday stand on grief’s shores — feel grief sink into the sand around our toes, loosening the ground we stand on. We may come early in life or later. Our visits may be brief, or we may live in a beach house. The ocean is vast and has plenty of shoreline. Grief is a part of life.

Water is, after all, life-sustaining — our very being. The ocean is simply life in motion.

The waves of the ocean don’t shift on their own. They form when a storm rolls in, when the moon replaces the sun, or when the very earth shifts. Grief can be a powerful force. It’s the sudden filling in of space formerly occupied by hope. It’s dreams breaking against cliffs. It’s love pulled out to sea and sent crashing back again with force.

At first, it’s standing on the beach with your back to the surf, being hit by a wave from behind, and being knocked off your feet.

Early on, small waves wash the sand from beneath your feet and knock you off balance. Big ones can threaten to pull you under.

Concerned friends may tell you to stay away. Grieve less. They worry the waves will pull you under. They shout this advice from a distance — lest they get sand in their shoes.

But they don’t understand that even if you leave the ocean, it never leaves you. The sea is in the clouds in the sky and the rain that falls. Grief, like the ocean, follows you.

You can’t pass through grief without feeling like you can’t learn to swim on dry ground.

If you’re lucky, you may, one day on grief’s shores, cross paths with a leather-skinned, barefoot beach-goer who’ll teach you how to plant your feet and face the waves. With practice, your muscles will get stronger. You’ll gain the strength to walk in the surf without losing your balance.

You’ll get tired. You may fall. The salt will sting your eyes.
That’s ok. The same salt that makes you cry is a preservative. It adds flavor. It cleanses.

You’ll learn to read the skies and anticipate the waves.
You’ll befriend the ocean, even if you’ll never tame its waves.

The ocean is an ever-changing constant.

Grief is an ocean.