Grief knows no boundaries. There isn’t a point in time where grief decides, “you know what, that’s enough.” There seems to be an endless stream of tears from a source you thought was long since barren. Each wave comes as much a surprise as the last.
It isn’t the big things that trigger the waves as much in the present. It’s the little, unsuspecting moments that produce the greatest sorrow.
Our dear Aunt (whom I’ve never admired more in my life) gave me the waves analogy during one of the many long days in the ICU. She lost her son suddenly and unfairly at an even younger age than Luke, and somehow managed to turn the waves of grief into something traumatically beautiful.
She recalled visiting the beach some time after his passing and standing with her bare feet in the sands of the shoreline. The waves kept rolling in, crashing into her legs with no warning of the strength. Waves, like grief, have no boundaries. The strength of these are always unknown. The only guarantee with waves are that they will always roll into the shore, and they will always roll back out to sea. The same can be said for grief. The moments will always come and go, without warning of the impact they may carry.
As time goes by, I know in my heart that I will learn to appreciate the waves of grief. The waves will remind me how far I have come.
Right now, my grief comes in tidal waves, thrashing violently on the shoreline of my heart with no foreseeable easement.
While I cannot control the severity of these waves, I can hold onto the notion that one day I may have the strength of our courageous Aunt to stand on the shoreline and embrace the waves…no matter what they bring.
For now, I’m holding on as tight as I can.