The ocean waves roll in one after another, ceaselessly pushing to reach as far up the sand as their fingers can touch before sinking back. Thirsty sand sucks it in with a desperate gasp before it disappears. This pain like those waves roll ceaselessly over me, reaching with extended fingers as far into my heart as it can. I see it coming, feel it coming and suddenly it’s overwhelming. Pushing the dull ache to an intensity that sears. And in a desperate gasp, the tears flow, my face a twisted grimace in the mirror. The bathroom, my privacy. My sobbing place, the toilet paper roll within easy reach as I ruthlessly unravel it.
Waves of sadness, of heartbreak, of fear. I grab my chest and lean into the pain as it wracks my body with sobs. Will this never end? This ocean roll, this endless tide.
Grief. A death. An ending. Finality.
The blissful ignorance of my life has ended and I’m overcome with grief. I stare out the same dog-streaked windows onto the same yard and trees and sky, and I hate that it looks the same. It doesn’t feel the same. There’s no lightness to the movement of branches, no deepness to the blue of the sky. The grass while still green is sharp and unsoft. It’s not a gentle rain dampening the pavement, but a cold and unfeeling drizzle.
The dishes pile in the sink. The laundry stops spinning and waits. The dust gathers in layers on the shelves while I sit here and feel the pain. I have to let myself feel. I have to experience the rolling, the building, the crashing. The grief.
Let the waves come. Let the chest heave and the toilet paper dwindle. The tears spilling hot down my cheeks and ruining my eyeliner. I have to feel this now, because tomorrow the tide may drop and the waves not reach as far. Tomorrow the branches may shake loose and the sky deepen. Tomorrow is hope.
But today is grief.