Tsunamis

 

Grief is complicated. It comes in waves and you never know which one it's going to be until it's on top of you. A ripple? Or a mollywhopper that nearly drowns you? Do you give yourself a mental hug, or a tranquilizer? Hot tea and a bit of self-care? Or get busy and try to do something to distract you? 

There's all the stuff you KNOW....that people tell you and it's logical and makes sense and you want to handle it all right and be graceful and admirable in your strength and faith and you're doing just fine then WHAM...you get hit in the back of the head by a giant wave and you're soaking wet, cold, and shaking.

Early on...like right now, the day after Capt's body was laid to rest, I get soaked and thrown to the ground on a regular hourly basis. Hot tea helps. So does Grandpunkin yacking on about Who Knows What. He's that wonderful age of 7 where he can just talk and talk and you can nod and say things like Okay! and he's content.  I put him to work putting taco shells on the pan for supper. Getting metaphorically thrown to the ground is exhausting. 

And yet, for all that exhaustion, going to bed at night is a cause of trepidation. It's a big ol' lonely bed for someone who's used to reaching out and touching the broad back of an individual who made one feel safe. I could sleep well knowing he was there to protect me in case of trouble. Now? My protector is a 15 pound ankle-biter who's 11 years old, going a bit deaf, but also a fierce protector as long as he can hide behind me. My dog is a wuss. Capt was not a wuss. He was a ferocious warrior of a man who pretty much wasn't afraid of anything. He had no respect for my dog and I can't say that I blame him.

Just about the time I catch my breath and feel like I can function, another wave comes along.

But, you see, that's the nature of grief. Eventually, as time goes on, the waves get farther apart. They become less dramatic. You can relax between them. The traumatic memories of the week leading up to Capt's death will fade until they only appear when I actively remember. They are replaced by the happy ones of the past 5 years...trips to the beach, scuba diving in Key Largo, Roatan, St Croix, stone crab claws in Key West, visiting with friends in Tampa, Sevierville, Taco Tuesdays with other friends. So many fun times with the man I chose for the second half of my life. I have many, many happy memories of the man I spent with the first half of my life. Raising children, washing cars with a passel of pre-schoolers, trips to the mountains, laughter, The interesting thing I've noticed...bad memories seem to fade away. Did we have rough times? Absolutely! You get a couple of strong minded opinionated people sharing their lives there are bound to be conflicts. Love mitigates them and memories fade and only the good ones remain, like those waves are pounding on rocks and wearing away the weak stuff.

When we went to St Croix, we learned of this stuff there they call "Chaney" Chaney are bits of porcelain washed up, from the dishes thrown overboard way back in the day, so the traders wouldn't have to pay tariff fees for them. Those lovely bits are made into jewelry. Like beautiful memories, the pretty images on the porcelain are still there. The porcelain is hard enough, and the painted bits resilient enough, that they lasted through the abuse of the sea. Lovely memories are my personal bits of chaney, battered by hardships and cherished as precious pieces of jewelry.

But oh, those waves. It's not any easier the second time. I don't have the confusion, but the waves. It's so soon. It will be months, probably, of getting soaked.  I know God knows what grief feels like. I know He's there, beside me, with a life vest and a thermos of hot tea. That's a huge comfort. 

But as for me, the nearness of God is my good; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all Your works

Psalm 73:28