Grief is like an ocean. It’s like you’re standing, facing the shore. You get used to the waves breaking at your feet. Sometimes, you’re deeper in the water; sometimes you’re in the shallower water, and those waves breaking feels more manageable. Because you don’t get to choose to face them, you don’t know when the big waves are coming, and they’ll grab you, you lose your footing, and can get pulled out by the undertow. You’re underwater again, like in the beginning, sputtering and struggling for air. You get thrashed around, torn up by the stuff on the bottom. Eventually, you find your way to the surface, find your feet beneath you again, and begin the journey back to the shore, to the smaller, more manageable waves.
This is August. I knew I was in for “deeper waves” this month. There are just so many anniversaries in August.
I feel a little like I got caught in the undertow this last weekend, though.
We’re having a family reunion. It’s been so great to see family for a reason that’s fun and not for a funeral, but it’s also brought up grief in a way that I was not prepared for.
As part of the reunion, we celebrated my grandmother, “Grandmom’s” 85th birthday. We took pictures with her and all of the great-grandchildren. I had no babies to offer for the photo. That may sound silly, but it broke my heart. In a situation like this weekend, when there’s kiddos everywhere, I feel an actual physical ache in my arms because they’re empty.
I’ve been grieving the husband I lost, but I’ve been grieving for my baby, the one in my dreams, too.
I hope, to get back to the ocean metaphor, that maybe, when all is said and done, my soul will have a really awesome tan and look great in a two piece with all of the exercise I’m getting out in the ocean.
|Most of the "Greatgrandkids" on the bench, waiting their turn for the homerun derby.|
|Afterword, we had real Oklahoma watermelon. De-lish!|