He grew up by the beach, and I grew up going to the beach. Weekends, summers, anytime we could soak up the sun, we did.
When he got sick, the coast was my place. I’d picked out a beautifully peaceful area with beach homes that were as diverse as Los Angeles and just as expensive. Sometimes I’d sit by the homes, not even getting out of the car. Other times I’d venture out, sink into the sand, and listen to the sounds of California.
I hadn’t gone back until that one day. Dining with a friend by the coast, we decided to cross the boardwalk and see the sea.
The waves crashed and the tears came and my poor friend sat beside me not knowing what to do. I looked at each wave come, some little, some enormous, some quickly and some ever so slowly.
That’s grief, I said.
Never knowing when it may come.
Over time, the waves have slowed and grief has calmed. Like low tide, I’ve been able to keep my tears at bay.
Until today.
When will this end, I asked. Never, he said, ever so gently.
While it does get easier, I live with the scar of a lost husband for the rest of my life. It may itch and sting at times unpredictable. It may fade into the new life I’ve made. It may even be invisible to those who never knew me before.
But it will always be there. As I think for a moment, maybe I don’t want it to fade away completely. If I forget grief, I forget my husband. If I forget my sorrows, I’ll forget the joy that brought on the sorrow in the first place.
In a strange way, I hope I never stop grieving. Because I never want to forget the man who was my husband, the father of my five children, and a person who made this world better a place simply by living.
I move forward, yes, but a piece of my heart will always be resting in peace beside him who forever rests in peace. 💙
#laughterafterdeath #lookingintherearviewmirror #itsme #lifebeginsnow