waves

I've often heard the expression that grieving comes in waves; you may start to feel settled in life after a loss and then a wave of grief will come and hit, seemingly out of nowhere.  That knocks you down for a bit, but then the tide retreats and you can walk upright again, until the next wave comes.  In my experience, this metaphor has been true.

And then I spent a week at the beach, and I realized just how true this saying is.  Spending a lot of time at the ocean's edge, I've observed a few things about waves this week.

Waves are really different, depending on the weather.  Stormy weather waves are altogether different than little lappy waves that tickle your toes.  Stormy waves are big and loud and sting.  They carry debris that's washed up from the ocean's deep, and crash hard against the sand.  They have a tendency of splashing up on you and soaking you in places you didn't think a wave could reach.  They can knock you over if you're not on guard.  They spray your face.  They take your breath away.

Low tide waves are so gentle and welcomed compared to high tide waves.  Low tide waves bring a serene and calming presence.  They whisper quiet in your ears, they wash off anxiety and replace it with peace.  They silence the day.  They are tender and unassuming.

High tide waves have a force behind them.  They can seem quiet and mild, but if you really stop and look you can see that they mean business.  They have a job to do, and they are busy doing it.  They bring life, and work, and fullness, and vastness.  They are great and have presence.

And standing at the water line, this week I was surprised at just how big of an impact even the smallest wave can have.  The sand from under your feet is washed away and pushed around with each and every wave.  So much so that just the tiniest baby of a wave can make you stumble, and throw you off balance, causing you to chase and work to regain your composure.  Walking at the water line with waves washing over your feet is the hardest place to walk.  It's hard to live at that line, it's hard to do anything but just stand up and keep going forward.  I decided that I didn't like walking at the water line; it's much easier to walk when you're knee deep in the water than when the water is just wetting your toes.

This has spoken volumes to me about grieving.  To say that grief comes in waves is an understatement; there are so many different kinds of waves, and grief can be like all of them.

I needed to think about this this week, because I am grieving.  Grieving for things I have lost, some recent, and some a long time ago.  Grieving for things I never actually had.  Grieving for things I may never have.  Grieving for things I know I'm about to lose.

Being at the ocean this week has encouraged me to not just stand at the waters edge when those waves of grief come, but rather to walk right in the water and live there for a while.  Trying to fight the waves when they're there, no matter what type of wave it is, is just too much work.  No matter how big or small, strong or mild those waves of grief can sometimes be, each one has brought cleansing, release, and healing. My lessons is to remember to continue to embrace them when they come.