Early in my grief I could not comprehend all the emotions and feelings I had hidden deep inside me, so I began to write. I wrote with no plan and with no idea of what would be etched on the paper.
Over the years of my grief, none of what I have written has ever been changed from how it landed on the page in the first instance. It was never meant to be a work of art or changed to be more correct, my writing will always be, just what my heart told my hand to write.
My first visit to a Solace group I was unable to speak openly and freely. I thought that may be the case so I had taken this piece of writing with me. To read it to the group and know that there were people who understood and felt what I was feeling gave me comfort, comfort knowing I was not alone on my widows journey.
WAVES
So here I am on the beach standing at the water’s edge.
Waves lapping at my feet.
I am caught up in my thoughts, memories of you, of us, not at all aware of my surroundings.
The beach was one of our favourite places. So many memories of time spent together on beaches.
Now I stand here alone. Only my thoughts and memories to keep me company.
I can hear people in the distance and close by, their voices muffled to my ears.
Nothing people say makes sense to me anymore and I no longer want to smile and say hello to people as they walk by me.
The once vibrant, happy, and talkative girl now goes unnoticed. People shy away from her sad face now, unaware of how deep that sadness goes.
I drift off into a trance like state remembering how we once were oblivious to what’s going on outside my mind.
I don’t see it coming, I know it must have been huge as it smashes into me. It knocks me straight off my feet.
My thoughts are also knocked out of me and my reminiscing ceases as I am being tumbled around like a rag doll.
The water is over my head. I desperately try to gain my footing, to get out from under the water and off the oceans bed.
The sand is coarse like sandpaper rubbing back and forth along my body, stinging, and burning me and the grains imbedding into what seems to be the depths of my soul.
The waves pounding against me are hard and they hurt like crazy as they hit my body and sting like mad as they slap my skin.
It’s too late to stand up, another wave hits, they are relentless and came out of nowhere.
They come hard and fast, over, and over, they will not let up.
They are not as big as the first one, but the first one completely knocked the wind out of me so the size or strength of the wave in no longer relevant.
Before I know it, I am out so far, I can no longer see the shore.
I contemplate calling out for help but will anyone hear me.
I decide not to bother calling out.
Instead, I flounder around in the great dark depths of the ocean.
It no longer looks the same to me, there is no beauty left in the ocean, its vast and full of turmoil.
The realisation that I could drown is as real as anything.
The water is still so strong, dragging me and pushing me.
I see some debris floating not far from where I am.
As I try to swim over to what could be my life raft, I can tell I have not much strength left.
My legs paddle but will not lift up.
My arms float on the water but they do not arch out.
How am I meant to reach it; how can I swim when I am so desperately tired?
Finally, I find the strength within me to try harder, fight harder, making the choice to live and not let myself drown I make it to the wooden board and clutch at it dragging my incredibly fatigued and battered body onto the board.
I dump myself onto the board, slowly roll over careful not to fall off and lay on my back.
I stare at the sky wondering if I have survived. Have I survived?
How long will I lay here for now, too exhausted to even contemplate my next move.
Wondering if someone will come and save me. Or if I can even be so I lay there on the small life raft I have found.
There is no shore that I can see and there isn’t even a horizon.
Just me, the ocean, and the sky.
All empty and lifeless in their vastness.
What will come next.
Right now, I have no idea.
Will I stay here floating heavy with no direction, or will I again find the desire and strength to continue to fight for my life.
Right now, the question remains unanswered.
Too worn down to even think.
I just stay right there.
I wait.
I wait for something.
For something to happen to force me to make my next move.
What will happen is anyone’s guess.
I certainly don’t know, because what I have learnt is that nothing in life is foreseen.
Over the years of my grief, none of what I have written has ever been changed from how it landed on the page in the first instance. It was never meant to be a work of art or changed to be more correct, my writing will always be, just what my heart told my hand to write.