The sky - a fully saturated blue stretched out as far as I can see. A stray cloud paints the sky with a feather touch - a wispy stroke of a brush. The reflection off the emerald green water is blinding. The sun is blinding. I proudly wear my mirrored aviators because it’s my favorite look. I protect my face with my absolute favorite hat - perfectly faded and molded - a gift from years ago [from my parents] - a peace offering for the stress tears I cried before my PCAT [I had gotten us lost and that did not go over well]. I am vacationing with friends - 2 of them seasoned beach goers [Floridians]. They feel at ease in the water. But I always had a mental rule - never go out farther than the farthest person.
In the distance - a hum of inaudible conversations. We are laughing and talking and jumping around. I hear the occasional scream of pure elation from a kid…that turns into laughter. The rhythm of the waves plays as a soundtrack for the day. There is a slow crescendo to each moment - a wave crashing into us. Then...it softly...fades...
I turn around. Get ready. I see it. I see it coming. It gives a distant warning. A white crest begins to form. The water slowly swells. I begin to think. How big is it going to be? Do I stand still and let it crash into me? It will be quick, after all. It is getting stronger. Should I just jump over it? Can I jump over it? The seasoned Floridians yell to swim through it and I watch them close their eyes, put their heads down, and put their arms up to jump in. I don’t move. What does that even mean - swim through it? I’ve never done that in my life. What do they really mean? Is that really what I'm supposed to do? Why? How? Doesn’t that keep you under water for far too long? How long do you have to hold your breath for that? How do you know when to come up? I'm not ready. With no mercy, it makes its way to me. And I take a breath.
I try to swim through it, but I can’t fully commit as my mind is paralyzed - confusion. doubt. indecision. I try to arc my body [like a dolphin?] and jump over it. Abort! Abort! Mistake! Mistake! Big mistake. Big. Huge.
I can't jump over it. It immediately smacks me down, like a haymaker to the face. I am pummeled. I have zero control. I am disoriented. I am rolling over and over...wait...or am I? I scramble, trying to regain my senses - my sense of control. Where is the bottom? Where is the top? I crash into the sand and feel a scrape. OK, there’s the bottom. What is the right thing to do? What am I supposed to do? Get your head above water. I am whipped around some more. I try to peek my head out the top - a quick escape for a breath. I can't reach.
How long have I been under? It feels like an eternity. How long can I keep doing this? How much longer do I have to hold my breath? How much longer can I even hold my breath? I can handle it...if I can just get a breath. I have to get to the top. It's a fight. Oh gah where are my friends?! Are they ok? Wait! I am alone. No one can help me. I am completely helpless - fully engulfed by this other force. I can’t stay under much longer. I can't handle much more. I have to catch a breath!
And when all felt lost - a clearing. A sigh of relief. I start to open my eyes. I can finally catch my - CRASH! Another wave hits and swipes my legs clear out from under me. I hear the familiar muffled silence. My legs flail uncontrollably. I wasn't expecting this. I couldn't see it coming. I find myself trapped and being pushed -hard- into the ocean floor. Surely…surely if I can get my feet under me, I can push off and swim out of this. I barrel roll under the weight of the water - an unwilling surrender to the power that has now wholly overtaken me. I can’t handle anymore! How far out is it taking me?! When will this end?! Should I be thinking "will I survive this?" Remain calm. Do not panic.
I can feel the force of another wave join with my current foe - pushing me down farther - burying me under the heaviest blanket of water, taking its sweet time as it crushes me underneath - a slow build - layer after layer - adding just enough to make the moment feel inescapable. Leaving me feeling like a rag doll forced to wait it out - reliant on the waves to offer a brief pause - a moment of rest from that climactic moment - an intermission perhaps. And no one even knows. No one knows the panic I feel. No one knows the helplessness. No one knows the fear. No one knows the struggle to find calm. I try again to get my bearings.
Suddenly, I feel weightless. I quit flailing and try to relax. But it wasn’t sudden at all...at least it didn't feel that way. What was likely only a few seconds felt like the longest, most excruciating minutes to endure. In a matter of seconds, the waves completely isolated me from everyone around me - from my friends. And in a matter of seconds, it was also over.
But waves play tricks with time. In the middle of a pummeling wave, each second lasts longer than the next. That's fact [not actual fact]. You find yourself completely dependent on the lost energy of the wave and search for hope that it will find you soon...and be long enough to allow you to catch your breath and get your feet back to solid ground.
I look around. I see my friends in the distance, laughing and smiling - clueless. Welp, I feel foolish. They were OK and clearly had no idea what I just experienced. I had found myself in an entirely different ocean. I squint as the sun reflects off the water. My sunglasses? Gone. I reach my hands up and pat my head. My hat - my favorite hat - my sentimental gift? Gone. But it was just mere seconds. I scramble around to find it. I have to find it. But it’s nowhere to be found - another one lost to the mighty sea.
Grief comes in waves. Moments come in waves. I knew all of that...at least I thought I knew all of that. I had read those sentences from others on their facebook pages. I had heard the words said in passing. They were always said in a matter of fact fashion. I thought I understood. But I didn’t understand - not even close. My thoughts on these waves were innocent and naive.
My interpretation of “coming in waves” was only that of timing - some we see coming, some we don’t - but a certainty of obstacles/triggers being in the distance…knowing there is a time of living in between - then a wave - then back to the in between.
I simply thought "grief comes in waves" as a structured cadence, albeit at varying intervals. I viewed it as living life, la de da, and then boom - a moment. It brings tears and pain. And it subsides, like waves do. Then more la de da - wave - emotion - la de da.
I had no idea of the full immersion of the waves. I had no idea it was not only about timing - but the suffocating feeling of drowning under relentless waves...and I mean relentless. Every feeling I described in that real life example came back to me ten fold in my grief.
panic
isolation
feeling alone
hopeless
helpless
suffocating
all consuming
out of control
doubt
desperation
fear
disoriented <— cannot emphasize this enough
intense
relentless
thinking of others but engulfed within your own grief
Here is an unedited excerpt from a journal entry - less than one month after my dad died...
"People say grief comes in waves. I think they mean over the long term. More of a typical day at the ocean. Where you see them come. You see the breaks between and the calm water. Then you see another. Nothing alarming until one crashing wave. But then stillness. But the day to day waves are the red flag days.
Those red flag waves that take you under and you come up only to be hit again. It rolls you and you lose your awareness where you even are. If you’re lucky you get to take a quick breath before the next wave pushes you under. Holds you there. Confuses you. Scares you. How long have you been under? Is there a way to get out? Can you at least catch your breath before the next one? Try! How many more are there? How long can I survive this? Will I survive this?
No one else knows what you’re experiencing and feeling in those moments. You are COMPLETELY on your own. Even though they were literally just beside you. For a second you worry for them but they’re figuring it out too. Did the wave take them under? Or did they swim through it? I’ve never been brave enough to try that. I always take the wrong approach and try to jump over it. Knowing it’s wrong but trying to keep my head above water for just a little longer. Don’t panic."
And as trite as it sounds, the waves do dissipate. The storm does pass. I hesitate to even write any of those words. If you are reading this, in the middle of the depths of grief, those words might anger you and invalidate anything I've said because they seem so out of touch. They did to me, anyway. I did not want to hear it. It made me feel even more alone, unheard, and unseen. How easily people seemed to forget how bad it really is. And yes, it really is that bad. I did not want to hear "you'll get through this." "You will survive this." I could not see that far ahead. I did not want to see that far ahead. But, I imagine those words needed to be said. They needed to take hold, somewhere down deep, and be at the ready for the moments when the waves came bearing down - even if it gave just a fake confidence in those words.
And then, one day, the pummeling waves finally started to subside. I took a deep breath and looked to find what was left in the wake.
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