The Waves

She rounds the corner of the large property, fanning her teary face with both hands.  She locks eyes with me, comes over and says, “it comes in waves, you know?”

I put my hands to her tear-streaked face, and say, “I know.”

Sweet Sister, let’s talk about these waves:

There will be moments of calm, but the waves will always resurface.

Some will knock you down with hurricane force, drop you to your knees holding the dinner that you’ve burned, a forever failure.  They can derail plans, threaten relationships, and leave you in bed, suffering from the dreaded grief headache.  You will curse these waves.

But others will come and roll over your skin.  Softly, they will come, gentle, a breeze, carried by a familiar scent, a butterfly that lands on your finger, a song on the radio, a dime on the pavement, the feeling that you are not alone when, scientifically, you are. These waves bring an unexplainable comfort with them. 

You may feel the need to apologize for the tears that accompany these waves, but Sweet Sister, learn to embrace them, as I have – the hurricane and the breeze.

Death is final but love will always be carried on in the waves.

Like a pebble dropped into water, disappearing from sight, it’s the ripple we watch, mesmerized. Grieve the loss of the pebble, yes, but learn to love the ripple left behind.

Embrace the waves as they wash over you: curse them, cherish them, but never, ever apologize for them.

I love you.