Grief comes in waves. I’m 3 months out – tomorrow, actually, is the 3 month anniversary of Sara’s death. I’m 5 1/2 months out from George’s death. At first, after loss, the waves were high and strong and frequent. I barely had time to come up for air before the next one came. Sometimes I was worried that the waves were going to take me out – when I was pulled under and tossed around, frantically trying to find the surface.
As I’ve gotten further out from the deaths of my son and my wife, the waves have changed. There are still days where they are like they were at the beginning. But there are also days where they are less frequent, or not as strong, or both.
Even when the water is calm, things are still not okay, but every once in awhile, I’ll feel a moment of real calm, the feeling of being centered and present and whole. These moments are few and far between right now – my losses are still so recent, so raw. When those moments happen, it’s incredibly disconcerting but it’s also a gift.
One day I remember, pretty soon after Sara’s death, I saw a cloud in the shape of a mermaid in the morning sky. Mermaids were her thing – she always said she was a mermaid at heart. Seeing the cloud was just a little moment of calm that went all the way into the furthest depths of my heart. A few breaths later I was awash again in a wave of grief, but that moment had given me a chance to fill my lungs and calm my nerves and ready myself for what would come next.
Another time when I felt the centered calm was when I went to watch the Parade of Lights with friends in downtown Denver. I was with people I care about, who care about me, who also loved Sara. I can be myself around them, and sometimes that means not being okay. But that night we were enjoying the parade on a beautiful evening – people all around us eagerly waiting for and eventually watching the parade, and everything just clicked – flooding me with love and grace and appreciation for the companionship I was experiencing.
It can feel uncomfortable shifting between these calm, centered moments back into grief, but I can only hope that as the waves continue spreading out and calming down that more of these moments will be gifted to me. The waves of grief will never go away completely, and I know I’ll occasionally be struck by one so powerful and unexpected that it will knock the breath out of my chest, but those won’t be every day, and I’ll have the opportunity to recover after.
Note: this was written based on a writing prompt provided to me through a paid course I am taking. I am not including the prompt, because the daily prompts are a critical component of that course.