The Shore
Grief is so unpredictable.
It’s like standing in the ocean but facing the shore. I’m not admiring the beautiful coastline as one would imagine. I am standing soaking wet - water dripping into my eyes, fists clenched, body shaking and tense. A permanent grimace is on my face. My knee and elbow are cut open and a pink mixture of water and blood dissipate into the ocean surrounding me.
I am standing there waiting.
I am waiting for the next impact - the next wave to hit. In anticipation, I do my best to ground my feet by digging them deeper into the sand below me. I try my hardest to steady my body and brace for what I know is coming. It’s a futile effort at best.
I have no idea when it will hit or how big it will be. It might simply make me stumble or cause me to lose my footing for a moment. It might be tall enough to hit me square in the back - its impact causing me to break the surface of the water and go under for an instant. It also however, could be one of those rogue waves that are big enough and strong enough to fully consume me; one of those violent and ominous-looking waves, where more white is visible than blue. Each time this wave ruthlessly knocks the wind out of me and sucks me under to tumble uncontrollably in its core. It slams me violently against the rough ocean floor, causing my body to tear and bleed. Once the water retreats I find myself on all fours; gasping for air, trying desperately hard to find the energy to stand and once again … face the shore.
A friend’s phone rings and her screen reads, “Incoming Call: Dad.” I realize I will never see that screen again. My dad will never call me again … WAVE.
While in the car my mom unexpectedly finds a piece of candy she had put in her purse weeks ago to give him as a treat … WAVE.
I drive past the McDonalds where I would always buy my dad one of his favorite things - a quarter-pounder cheeseburger (plain of course) … WAVE.
I open my Find Friends app at work to see if my mom made it home safely. There is my dad’s name below hers. Next to his name it reads, “No Location Found.” … WAVE.
I instinctively set aside two pieces of cheese pizza before letting a hoard of hungry children come to the dinner table. I then realize my error … WAVE.
“Mama, I don’t like it when people I Iove go to Heaven.” Sullivan sobs into his pillow uncontrollably before bedtime. There is nothing I can do to calm him or soothe his broken heart … WAVE.
When clearing out my refrigerator I find something ONLY my dad ate. Into the trash it goes … WAVE.
I go downstairs to say goodnight to my mom. She is sitting alone on the side of her bed, wearing my dad’s slippers, with tears rolling off her cheeks … BIG WAVE.
“I’m on my way home with Dad.” I get a text from my mom and realize she has just left the funeral home. She comes through the door holding a box … ROGUE WAVE.
Sometimes the sets are on top of each other and sometimes they are more spread out. But one thing is always constant … the promise of the next wave. It’s a brutal cycle where all that is predictable, is its unpredictability. As time goes on the waves will most likely get further apart and give us more room in between to dry off a bit and maybe catch our breath. Eventually, we will have time to admire the beautiful coastline before the next one hits. But for now … they are right on top of each other.
I am thankful there are two lifelines in these waters.
The first is quite obvious - the love and support of our family, friends, and community. As a family, we are in these waters together. Some waves knock us all down and some take us out one at a time. But we have our arms linked, which makes us stronger and able to help each other stand. Our community may not be IN the water with us but they certainly can and have constantly been throwing things our way to make the process more bearable. Their texts, cards, and meals … are proof that we are not alone.
The second lifeline is not obvious to all, but more important than all the others. It makes my heart heavy because I know everyone is staring at a shore of their own in some capacity or another. This lifeline offers HOPE and grief void of hope is far too dark and desolate a place for anyone to exist.
Without this lifeline … there is NO HOPE.
Right now, my family and I are facing the shore minus two. We are bruised, beaten, cold and tired. We may tumble, gasp for air and bleed … but … regardless how aggressive the wave, we will always find the water’s surface. How you might ask?
Because we are wearing life jackets. JESUS IS THE LIFE JACKET and paid a very high price to equip us with such a priceless gift.
This season feels so dark, EVEN WITH the promise of hope and Heaven. But I know in my core this is not the end of our story. Not even close. I know this life is temporary and we were built for eternity. I know in the end we will all be together and whole. In the end … Jesus wins and so do we.
Until then, equipped with the grace of God, we will continue to stand and face the shore.
Much Love to you all,
Jamie
