Swim At Your Own Peril, The Ocean Of Grief is Uncharted

I am completely out of my favorite element, earth, and submerged in my least likeable one, water.  I say this just as my toes palpate a grainy sandbar, gripping on to terra firma. My short lived elation is washed away as a forceful, rogue wave shoves me back into the deep waters. My head bobs up and down like a cork, catching a glimpse now and then of land ahoy. Grief, it seems, comes in waves. Small, unassuming waves, and monster waves. I steady my sights on the refuge of dry land and begin to feverishly swim towards it. At times, the ocean coaxes me along easing my journey and grief begins to subside. At times, a riptide sucks me under and spits me out as if it swallowed a bad clam, throwing me off course. How did the ocean get so big and how did I get so small?  If I stop fighting the tide and give in to my sorrow, will the current eventually deliver me to safer ground? It's a game between grief and joy, a tug of war of sorts. I reach for joy, and grief sweeps me out to sea.  Ungrounded and disoriented, I find solace in knowing that I am not alone. The ocean of grief is vast and unmapped, even if you've been there before.  There is a lot to be said for feeling the ground beneath your feet. A solid foundation provides comfort and security in an unsteady world. I miss being centered and grounded. When I do eventually reach the shore, it will be an unfamiliar one. We can never go back once we've been swept out by the ocean of grief. But I will be a much stronger swimmer, already am.