I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble lately. Well, maybe I do. My life is in disarray. Turmoil. Disorder. I like order. Control. I feel as though I’m on the edge of a teeter-totter. Hanging down. Bouncing up. Teetering side to side. Not sure where I’ll land on any given day. Unsettling. It makes it difficult to find the words. But sometimes they come from other places. Just when I need it most. My son, Ryan, sent me beautiful words today. Words that made sense of my unsettled world. Words that brought me onto a straight plane. Rather than one that was teetering off balance.
After feeling unsettled at a social event, these words comforted me. I no longer felt as alone as I did standing there. Standing and staring at couples holding hands. Watching couples interact. Thinking about once being a part of a pair. And now being just one. I wanted to wear a banner. A t-shirt. “My husband was so amazing God made him an angel and he watches me from above.” Truth. Or, “I’m not a widow. I’m a wife. My husband awaits me on the other side.” Truth. But, the real truth. I am a widow. And driving away, I felt sad. Empty. The teeter had tottered to the ground. I just had to figure out how to bring it back up. These words reminded me. It’s all part of the journey. It never goes away. It just changes. Grief. It will always be a part of me. Sometimes it will hide in my pocket. Other times, it will pop out and hit me smack in the face.
“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.For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.” I have been here. I have survived this wave. I have hung on. Gregger’s wedding band hangs around my neck. He is always close to my heart. I see his face on my phone, my computer, all around my house. He is near. These are the memories that keep him alive.
“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t eve 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 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, the smell of a cup of coffee. 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 are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, 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. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
This 75-foot wave caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared. I should have been. A year later I know the signs. But I’ve been on cruise control. I’ll ride the wave. Let it crash into shore. Feel the pain. And sail out again. The scars I bear will be a testament to the life we had together. One filled with love, laughs, and memories. One that I was not ready to give up. One that ended far too soon. But one that I cherish with all my heart. I will survive this wave. And the next. And the one after that. Knowing that the ride is all part of the journey. My journey. To find peace.
