Grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating with you. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, or the smell of something coming from the kitchen. It can be just about anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves may only 80 feet tall, or maybe 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming, it could be an anniversary, a birthday, or a holiday. You can feel it coming, and you try to prepare yourself, but it still washes over you, but you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
What a beautiful moment to have forever. I lost my husband in June 2024. Your story of what do I do now felt so familiar and gave me reason to pause and take a deep breath. After 35 years your routine suddenly crashes. I thought I would be just fine splitting ashes for family and then couldn't bring myself to "piece him out" for at least 6 months. The comment below from Jeevz is so true. You find your way one day at a time and just when you think things are beyond your capability you find strength to get through.
What a beautiful moment to have forever. I lost my husband in June 2024. Your story of what do I do now felt so familiar and gave me reason to pause and take a deep breath. After 35 years your routine suddenly crashes. I thought I would be just fine splitting ashes for family and then couldn't bring myself to "piece him out" for at least 6 months. The comment below from Jeevz is so true. You find your way one day at a time and just when you think things are beyond your capability you find strength to get through.
That is so beautiful
Grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating with you. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, or the smell of something coming from the kitchen. It can be just about anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves may only 80 feet tall, or maybe 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming, it could be an anniversary, a birthday, or a holiday. You can feel it coming, and you try to prepare yourself, but it still washes over you, but you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Such a lovely gift.
What a beautiful moment to have forever. I lost my husband in June 2024. Your story of what do I do now felt so familiar and gave me reason to pause and take a deep breath. After 35 years your routine suddenly crashes. I thought I would be just fine splitting ashes for family and then couldn't bring myself to "piece him out" for at least 6 months. The comment below from Jeevz is so true. You find your way one day at a time and just when you think things are beyond your capability you find strength to get through.
What a beautiful moment to have forever. I lost my husband in June 2024. Your story of what do I do now felt so familiar and gave me reason to pause and take a deep breath. After 35 years your routine suddenly crashes. I thought I would be just fine splitting ashes for family and then couldn't bring myself to "piece him out" for at least 6 months. The comment below from Jeevz is so true. You find your way one day at a time and just when you think things are beyond your capability you find strength to get through.
What a beautiful story so sorry for your loss. God bless.
What a beautiful story so sorry for your loss. God bless.
this is such a touching piece❤️i'm moved beyond words
As always, so beautiful Rosi. Wishing your heart peace today and always. ❤️