Restless Waves: A Journey Through the Tides of Grief.

Authors Note: I wrote this piece in response to two questions I was asked about grief—specifically the kind that comes in waves, unexpected and overwhelming. This is my honest attempt to put those feelings into words and to offer something meaningful to anyone who's navigating their own ocean of loss. If you're grieving, I hope this meets you where you are.

I was asked two questions on my last post and I once again wanted to answer them.

The first question:

How do you think people can better prepare themselves for those sudden, crashing waves of grief?

Honestly? As much as we try to prepare for grief in general, we never truly can. We think we are ready, we imagine life when and if it happens, but suddenly it does happen and everything you imagined—everything you thought—goes out the window. Nothing is like you tried to mentally plan. Those first few days after a loss go by in a whirlwind, and for a while, life is very, very heavy. The sand beneath your feet feels like fresh concrete being poured. It feels like you're not going anywhere.

So, as time goes by and we learn to live with grief and eventually embrace it, we think that grief eases up. But unfortunately, no matter how much time goes by, there are days where it will hit and it will feel like the very day you lost them all over again.

That's when the ocean of grief comes roaring in.

That's when you're pulled into a riptide far from the shore.

I think when trying to prepare for those sudden, crashing waves of grief, you should prepare every single day because no one knows when it's going to hit. A song will play, a smell will wrap itself around your nose, a memory will come back to you. We don't know when it will happen. I believe that being prepared every second of every day will put up a small wall for when it finally does hit, and even though the wall won't be fully standing once it's gone, you'll still have pieces to build from.

For me, my loss is everywhere. Their pictures on the wall, a necklace that I wear every day. I'm always reminded of the ones I love, so the grief sits with me at the edge of the ocean—sometimes as a friend, then other times as the bully who drags me into the ocean.

Grief and the ocean are the same: raw, powerful, and untamed. A force of nature.

Us mere humans don't stand a chance against the damage nature can do most of the time, but we can prepare. Just as we get food, first aid kits, and a place to bunker in for whatever may be happening, we do the same with grief.

We look at pictures, we write out our feelings, we listen to music, and we talk. I think to better prepare ourselves in some way, we should meet the grief halfway. Don't let it come to us all of a sudden and pull us into the ocean. We should walk into the water and show that we aren't afraid to face these feelings—to face the waves that we know will come over us.

If you want to meet grief halfway so the waves aren't as powerful and overwhelming—and even worse, random as hell—here are my suggestions, things I do to face it head-on:

1. Listen to music. I have a grief playlist, and I allow myself to feel it. It helps me "control" what I'm feeling and how long I feel it. When I'm cutting my playlist off after a while, I can smile because it feels in those moments, when I let those songs play, the ones I love are sitting there with me. Their memory hanging on to the life preserver as I make my way back to shore.
2. Write out your feelings. Sometimes we don't know what we're actually feeling until we try to face everything. Sometimes we dig up feelings that we thought we buried. We face it all head-on as we write, and we let it pour out of us onto pages. When you write, you are the ocean, and you can drown page after page in everything you're feeling. It makes you lighter. It certainly helps me—as you can see. Writing about grief has helped me manage it a little better. Though there are times when I'm still pulled under by the powerful waves, writing has kept me closer to the shore.
3. Go through your photos. Sometimes it's hard because they are all you have left. They are memories and moments that won't happen again. But they are reminders that those you love were here—are still here. Their memory and legacy live on inside of you. You carry them with you every day. They are never truly gone. Even though there won't be any more photos taken of them, the ones you do have are magic. Ways to time travel back to a time and place where everything in the world seemed right. So look at photos, let yourself go back in time for just a little while. When you return back to this reality, you will be glad you let yourself go. Though they aren't physically here with us, the reminders of them in the photos are tattoos on our hearts—physical reminders of a love that will transcend time. Reminders of a love that is far more powerful than the ocean.
4. Talk to people. Whether it's those who are grieving the same person, those who are grieving their own person, or someone that you know will listen. Talking about who you love lets the ocean know that you aren't afraid of grief—that it has no power over you. You take control of your grief. You grab the wheel, and you're steering a boat through those powerful waters instead of drowning in them. When you talk about those you love, you give energy to them, and in their new form, they find a way to be there for every conversation.

So maybe preparing for those random days of grief is about facing grief ahead of time. You navigate it, you feel it, but you get through it. It allows you to go through all the things that the ocean would drown you in. But when you take control, you can go through it all sitting on shore instead of being tossed by the waves.

No matter what you do, just know that allowing yourself to feel all your feelings before those feelings can take over you is a very healthy step on a never-ending journey of grief.

And this is the second question:

Does everyone's experience of grief-as-the-ocean follow a similar pattern? Or are there unique variations based on the nature of the loss?

Grief is different for everyone. Even in families, when they're all grieving the same person, they're also grieving a different version of them.

Those grieving a grandparent are alongside people who are grieving a parent.

Parents grieve children, but children grieve siblings.

Siblings grieve their parent, but each sibling has a different version of that parent.

It's weird that humans all grieve eventually in this life, but it's so different for us as well.

I lost my grandpa in 2023, and I thought of my cousins who were grieving a grandpa as well—but a different version of him. The same man, but at the same time, so very different for all of us.

My aunts, uncles, and my dad were grieving a father, but they all had a different version of him. Though their memories with him growing up are the same in experience and love, their time with him, conversations, and moments made in growing years are all so very different.

Grief is a universal experience.

But it's like a snowflake, because no two people will experience it exactly alike.

Maybe that's a good thing, as different feelings and different points of view can help one another get through it.

Or maybe it's something that makes us feel isolated on our journey of grief.

Hell, maybe it's a mixture of both.

Grief is the most complicated emotion us humans will ever feel, but it is a constant reminder that those we love truly never leave.

So in the unique emotion of grief, even strangers can come together to help one another.

While some are on their boat going through the ocean with occasional leaks they can plug up, they can stop and pull out those who are drowning in the waves.

Hell, sometimes they probably allow themselves to fall into the ocean together just to have someone while their emotions are throwing them around.

As humans, it is our job to take care of others whether we know them or not. To live on this earth means to not only take care of Earth and her living creatures, but our fellow humans.

Through physical and emotional, when the waves of the ocean pull one of us in, someway, somehow, we have to get them out.

No matter how different our oceans look, no matter how large the depth or how shallow, one thing about grief that us humans can all relate to:

It never ends.