Grief is available in waves, unpredictable and relentless. One moment, you might feel like you're looking at solid ground, able to work, even smile. Then, out of left field, a memory, a tune, a familiar scent crashes over you, pulling you under. The character of grief isn't linear—it does not follow a straight path of healing. Instead, it ebbs and flows just like the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming. You may think you've made peace along with your loss, only to be blindsided by a rigorous wave of sorrow. This unpredictability will make grief feel a lot more isolating, like nobody else understands why you're suddenly struggling again. But the reality is, this really is normal. Grief is not a thing we “get over”; it becomes an integral part of us, shifting and changing over time.
In the beginning, the waves are constant, leaving little room to breathe. The pain is raw, fresh, and consuming, like being caught in a storm with no sight of the shore. Every reminder of the thing that was lost feels just like a punch to the chest. The simplest tasks become difficult, as grief drains energy and motivation. The planet moves on, but you're feeling stuck, unable to escape the cycle of sadness. As time passes, however, the waves become less frequent. They don't disappear, however they come with increased space in between, allowing moments of light to shine through. You could find yourself laughing again, enjoying small things, even feeling a feeling of normalcy. However, just whenever you think you've found solid ground, another wave hits. This is often frustrating, even discouraging—why, after so much progress, does the pain return? Because grief is love with nowhere to go, and love does not need an expiration date grief comes in waves.
Eventually, you learn how to navigate the waves, even if they never fully stop. You begin to identify when they're coming, and you develop ways to brace yourself. Some waves are small, only a ripple of sadness that passes quickly. Others are overwhelming, knocking you off the feet, forcing you to sit along with your pain around again. But with time, you realize that you will be not drowning anymore. You are learning just how to float, how exactly to ride the waves rather than resisting them. The pain is still there, nonetheless it no further consumes you. You carry your loss differently—never as a weight that drags you down, but as a part of you, woven into your life. Healing does not mean forgetting; this means learning how to deal with the waves instead of fearing them.
And perhaps the most important realization is that grief's waves do not just bring sorrow—in addition they bring love, connection, and memory. Each wave is an indication of how deeply you cared, of the moments you shared, of the impact they'd in your life. Although the pain may be sharp, it's proof that love never truly leaves us. The waves can come unexpectedly, and they may bring tears, but in addition they carry warmth. They remind you that even yet in loss, there's love. Over time, you find that the waves of grief do not only pull you under—in addition they carry you forward, guiding you toward healing in their very own unpredictable way.
