Attempting to survive the Waves…
..trying to hear voices at the bottom of a pool
Grief moves in waves.
Occasionally they’re small, gentle and slow, like foamy-surf kissing smooth sand.
More often than not though, they arrive with an intensity both unexpected and unwelcome. Rushing up out of nowhere at frightening speed, knocking me off my feet with chaotic abandon. These waves of Grief are formidable…PAY ATTENTION they demand.
When I try to pretend not to notice them, the waves rage higher and more wild. Flatly refusing to be ignored, they become threatening, promising to swallow up the whole world unless I succumb. These days, giving in seems like the only option. Exhausted, I acquiesce. Engulfed in the waves, I find the water to be at once soft and somehow hard, tender yet forceful, persistent and patient all at once.
Feeling me surrender, the pressure eases, the roar quietens, and I am enveloped. We move through the world as one - Grief and I - entangled, held close together, wrapped in our wave of water. Sound, sensation and feeling all make their way to me; muted, muffled, muddled together.
Unexpectedly, I’m reminded of the summer I turned eleven...It’s one of those sweltering hot late-August afternoons - you know the ones, where your ice cream starts melting as soon as it's scooped - I’m sitting at the bottom of Riverside Pool holding my breath, trying to listen to my friend. She wants to tell me a secret. Her words come out as a stream of bubbles...
Whenever anyone has spoken to me these past five months, I’ve felt their words trying to navigate through the water. Muted sentiments - well meant and heart felt, absolutely - but isolated as I am, in my watery wrapping, all that reaches me is the sound of bubbles popping.
xx
