Waves Crash and Recede
and the sand slips out from under my feet
I’d never heard the phrase, grief comes in waves, until one of my parents passed. Now I don’t even remember which funeral it was at. Maybe my father, as he died first in 2008.
Yesterday was my sister Judi’s birthday, she would have been 66, wait, 67. I should know, I used her license as a fake id for what seemed like eons but I suppose was only a couple of years.
I’d remembered it was coming up as February is a month of many memorable dates for me. Some good: my parents’ wedding anniversary, Ernie’s parents’ wedding anniversary, birthdays of Judi and Trinity and Tal. It’s also the month that Judi died, in 2009, and my mother a year later in 2010. Then you add in dates of their funerals and well, February is a very busy month in my poor little head.
It wasn’t until I’d curled up in bed to read last night that it hit me. I’d talked with my sister Debbie earlier in the day. I’d posted a picture or two of Judi on Facebook. However then I sent the boys that picture of them with Judi outside the train tunnel and waterfall in South Carolina. Man, the grief that hit me would have brought me to my knees if I’d been upright.
Earlier in the day I found myself saying at different times, both “You know, it gets easier, doesn’t it?” and “You know, it really doesn’t get any easier, does it?” I suppose both are true in some strange way. Lying in bad last night it almost felt harder than ever. I guess that could be true as well.
I guess it’s the what-could-have-beens that hurt the most. She wanted to do a roadtrip with the boys when they were a little older. And I know she would have gotten them a dog whether we agreed to it or not. I mean, she just would have. She was Judi.
I miss the conversations we never had. The ones about menopause and university politics and politics or talking about recipes and whatever was going on in our lives. I miss those conversations that never had a chance to happen.
It was a hell of a big wave that hit me. But of course waves always recede.
You know that unsettling sense when you feel the ocean pulling its wave back, with the sand slipping out from under your feet? I guess that’s how I feel today.
The wave crashed.
The ocean is pulling it back.
The wave will crash again.
Onward.
Love,
Cynthia
part of it is, the grief will all flow away when we are gone, and part of it is all the wonderful memories will all flow away when we are gone.
Wish I could give you a hug. Thank you for feeling safe enough to share your grief in your post with your readers.