Waves of Grief

When I first became a widow and began reading on the subject, I saw the phrase Waves of Grief a lot.  It reminded me of the song, “waves of mercy, waves of grace, everywhere I look I see your face.”  This is a positive thing.  A reminder that God is always there willing and ready to take us into his loving arms. 

Waves of Grief are different.  They are debilitating.  They completely take your breath away and you don’t see them coming.

Yesterday, I walked into the Royal Ranger Pinewood Derby with the kids.  I knew where we were going.  I knew it was one of Rocky’s favorite events.  He worked hard as it approached every year.  He wanted the boys to have great cars.  I always reminded him it was the boys’ event, and the boy’s cars.  Who was I kidding?  It was his!  Anyway, I walked in and felt something was off.  The boys checked in and I immediately had to step into the restroom to compose myself.  You see, a wave a grief hit me in that room.

Imagine this…..you are standing on the beach talking to a friend and just really aren’t paying much attention.  Maybe, a wave hits and you are all of a sudden wet and didn’t mean to be.  The wave just took on more strength than the ones before it.  Take it a step further…….you are letting the waves crash on your legs and all of a sudden you are knocked off your feet and a wave crashes over you.  You try not to panic and work to float to the top and regain your bearings.  It is scary.  Finally, you are to the top and breathing again but there seems to be a rip tide.  You can’t make it back to shore.  You know you are supposed to swim parallel to the beach until you have control.  You do that but your heartrate is up and you are nervous.  Does the lifeguard see me?  Will they come if I can’t make it? Ahhh…..the sweet feeling of sand between your toes.  You start to breathe again but you are looking at the ocean with a whole new sense of awe.  A respect for its power over you.  As much as you love it you are reluctant to dabble your toes in the water again.  You spend the day thinking about it and remembering the need to breath.

That surprise.  That, whoa….didn’t see that coming sense of awe.  That need to be in control again.  That inability to function at full capacity for the rest of the day.  That is what a wave of grief feels like.

Back to yesterday, that wave crashed over me the minute we entered the room.  I spent hours swimming along the shore.  I caught two of my boys with tears in their eyes and knew they were swimming just as hard as I was.  We didn’t talk because we knew that was place we didn’t want to go in that moment.  But we understood each other.

We got in the car and I simply said, “That was hard.”  They said, “Yup.”  Thankful we survived current and praying the next wave will have a little more mercy and grace.