Riding The Waves Of Grief

Grief, like the sea, has an element and feel of being wildly unpredictable.I think I love surfing, in part, from how I’ve formed a metaphor around it and both the power and gentleness of living in the shadow of loss.When surfing, you can be riding a wave, then momentarily lose your footing, come hurtling off the board and go under.You’ll have learned to instinctively shield your head and heart so you don’t get knocked out with the sheer force of the board coming down to meet you.With no idea when the potential blow could land; or from where.Or if it will sail right past you, gently tugging at your ankle reminding you you’re safe and supported in a deep ocean.For those brief moments, time stretches and the buoyancy of water and the rush of bubbles leave you uncertain of where you are.Holding your breath, knowing if you stay calm and let it carry you you’ll find the surface to breathe again soon.Part of you wondering if you’ll make it out alive.Addiction to the rush and burn of adrenaline keeps you returning to the thrill of really living; moving forwards; back into the waves.Honing the skill of intuitively knowing whether to riding it out or when to let yourself crash beneath the surface.No matter how skilled or seasoned you become in the sea, you can’t turn your back on her unrivalled power.You know when each time you head out, if you don’t dive into the waves you’ll be taken backward with them so you have to courageously lean in.

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