Grief is an ocean we walk beside,
its waves whispering across our feet.
There are times we sit in the surf,
feeling its rise and ebb around us.
Other moments we have swum too far out,
where our feet can no longer reach,
undertow tickling our feet,
stuck between being pulled out further
and being pushed back to shore.
If we can, we swim back to shallow water,
allowing ourselves to float back to sitting in the surf.
Days and days may pass,
we are able to stand
and walk alongside the ocean once again.
Author notes
I wrote this poem a month before my grandmother died. She had terminal lung cancer and her death was readily inevitable. Anyway, I basically was thinking about death and the grieving process when I wrote this. Make of it what you will.
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