Grief is a riptide.
When they die, you feel as if you did too.

Like the churn of an angry wave about to break on land.

Suspended for a moment with the force of rage behind you,
But a moment, is all you have.
thrown against the sand in a winding, bruising, slam.
Before breath can be restored,
dragged out again.
sand filling your clothes, your mouth, your nose.
Water, choking you.

Suspended for a moment with the force of rage behind you,
But a moment is all you have.
thrown against the sand in a winding, bruising, slam.
Before breath, can be restored,
dragged out again.
sand filling your clothes, your mouth your nose.
Water, choking you.

And Repeat.

The ocean dumping you on the shore and dragging you back out against your will.

Until you can no longer resist the pull
That is upon you.

And lucky for that.
the only way to survive it is to let it pull you out into the surge of sea in it’s natural cycle.

You have to float.

To survive a rip current, you have to float.
let the water carry you beyond the breaking waves.

You have to go where it goes, float where it floats, flow where it flows.

eventually it dumps you back on the beach as the current moves in its circular motion back towards the shore.

It always comes home.

Counter-intuitive to let a tide carry you out.
trusting it will bring you back again.

What faith is required to voyage into the vortex of unknown?

Especially if you know you are a weak swimmer.

Grief.

Herein, we are all
Weak Swimmers.

Suspended for a moment with the force of rage behind you,
But a moment, is all you have.
thrown against the sand in a winding, bruising, slam.
Before breath, can be restored, dragged out again.
sand filling your clothes, your mouth your nose.
Water, choking you.

you can not out swim the waves.

Yield.
Relent.
Surrender.

Let them carry you out into the unknown depths of the ocean.
Trusting that they know their path,
And will return you home to the safety of the solid ground,
That is the renewed gratitude that you ever breathed breath,
And knew the one you loved,
No matter for how short.
The pain is worth knowing them,
Worth loving them.
For even a little.
Or even a lot.

Grief is a riptide.
When they die, you feel as if you did too.
And you did.
But they rise again in the great beyond.
You?
You rise here.