The Grief Ocean
The grief ocean is always on the periphery of life, snapping at your ankles as people on the beach disappear into the horizon, their footprints filling with water and worn smooth with time. Maybe for you, the waves grow and push against calves, knees, thighs—a slow drowning few notice and fewer can protect you from. And then the tide crashes in, the undertow overwhelming your steadfast attempts to stay on land, dragging you down, out into the deep, where currents grab and twist your body, disorienting. All the “goodbyes” you weren’t ready for, all the “I love you’s” gone unsaid. The all-encompassing pressure leaving you breathless, hopeless, and alone. Your best efforts to kick and claw toward the light on the surface let you reconnect with precious air, but the ocean will not give you up on your own terms. Eventually it will spit you out, emotions frayed and tangled in seaweed. As you catch your breath, the sun transforms damp skin to a salty sheen. How did you not see before tha
