Mother, Mother Ocean
My grief is like an ocean. Its waters hold a thousand tears, and it rocks with the tide of my mind, pulled by the sky, echoing the lullabies that could have been. It changes. Some days a slick calm welcomes you with a peace of being; others, the waves spill in choppy jabs towards the shore, unsure of their direction; and some days, the waters are fierce. It is vast and deep. It carries light and life within it, around it. It is the taste, the smell, the feel of saltwater; letting it roll across your wounds, healing, though it stings. You have to feel. I can see how you can be swallowed up whole by it. Waves of sadness unfairness guilt pain anger heartbreak what if, what if, what if. Pounding. The knowledge of what should have been, and what will not be, knocking you flat. You have to remind yourself to catch your breath between the waves. On a calm day, sometimes one of those comes out of nowhere and hits you, throwing you down and under so you don’t know which...