The ocean has always been a big part of me and my family’s life.  Nathan loved and lived in the ocean from the time he was born until he took his last breath.

I hear the term a lot these days, Grief comes in waves.  I am beginning to understand what that means

I went into the laundry room the other morning to look for something I needed.  There on the table, lay a stack of T-shirts that were made in my son’s honor.  I love these shirts. I wear one almost everyday, and feel so proud when I do. But that day, I was hit with the thought, “What? my son is a T-shirt now? This is what I have? A shirt? How long will this last? Do T-shirts last forever?”

The wave hit hard

I desperately didn’t want it to. I cried out, “No!”   I tried to get out, but couldn’t and had to give way to the wave of grief that wanted to take me again.

I then got this picture of what the waves of grief feels like

I remembered as a kid, being at the beach where there was a rip current. I am out in the water, having to keep up with getting out far enough to be able to go under or over the wave, so it would not slam me and take me down. Between sets, I would try and get in to shore, but the rip current was pulling me back into the deep. I am struggling against the pull, but as I look back towards the ocean, I see another wave forming and getting larger and larger. I think I need to hurry and swim towards the wave to avoid getting slammed again. I don’t make it. It takes me, pulls me down, spins me around, until finally I can get my head above the water to take a breath. But there again, a wave is forming.  Hurry!! swim towards the wave to get under it…. Too late, it hits and takes me again… Down , down… I tell myself to not panic. There is nothing I can do about it.  I need to give in, and get through this, so I can get out. But it is so scary, so painful.  Finally the surf settles down enough for me to lift my head.  I made it. It is now time between sets, to catch my breath and gather my strength.  I must succumb to the fact, that I will not be able to make it to shore for a long while, but have to accept that the next set is coming, endure it’s brutality, and let it take me.

“we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” 2 Corinthians 4:8