We ride grief in waves; we do not conquer it. It is wide and wild and ebbing, coming back to drench you when you think you have wiped your face dry of tears. If you know someone who is riding grief and you ask, “How are you?” They may just be answering for that day. Because tomorrow might just be all wet and the day after that, the sun again rises. Just stand in the water with them and wade. That is how we live.
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Amen, D. I just got plastered by a wave of grief Sunday, and I thought to myself, “where the $(%*$)*# did that come from.” But you’re right, it never left. The waters had just been calm for a while.
I hate that…you get your balance and then, WOOSH. ugh. My only comfort is that the spells grow farther apart and shorter when it happens.
Yes, they do. I’d almost forgotten this one, but then don’t we want to ignore? I could have been less “whiplashed”. 🙂