Speak to Me
I don’t understand these waves of grief. New normal seasons. Gentle seasons. Semi joyful seasons.
I’m taken under. I’m drowning, and I can’t even get above the wave to ride it. It pulls me in and thrashes me, until I no longer resist its force.
The weight of this sadness. The weight of this water is heavy, and I feel myself sinking below. I reach upward and out, flailing my arms about for something or someone to grab a hold of. Where is a hand to pull me out? Where is my rescue?
I feel the water gradually enter my lungs, and it is hard to breathe. I’m so terrified. I’m scared the sadness will never go away. I’m scared I’ll swim in the deep waters of grief for the rest of my life. I can’t see beyond the horizon. What if I drown?
As I sink beneath, I become aware of how tired I am. I’m so tired of the sadness. So tired of the anger, the jealousy, the judgement, the fear, the anxiety, the lack of peace, the longing, the confusion, the questions. I’m tired of everything being so unbelievably hard.
I long to float. To coast.
Is this where the exhaustion is coming from lately? From the attempt to stay afloat in order to survive? This tread, this thrashing about—it’s taking everything out of me.
I long to feel rest upon a sandy shore, as the warmth of the sun heals me to the depths of my soul. Penetrates me. Presses me down hard until I can no longer move, but rest in the presence of an unfathomable peace and surrender. Oh, how I wish it were so.
It would be okay for the waves to still creep upon my toes ever so gently. It would be slight, and they might even be welcomed.
But now, right now, I can’t even see the shore, because my eyes are covered. I can’t even seem to open them, but for brief moments, as they catch glimpses of the morning sun as it warms the ocean. It dances above me. The sun is above me, and I can’t reach it. It beckons and beams, but is too far away. It’s unobtainable. The shore...it’s in the distance. So far, I can’t even find it. I don’t even know which direction I am facing.
How much longer will I be able to keep this up? How much more will be asked of me? I miss her. I miss her so much. And I cry out to my God who gave and took: Speak to me! Speak to me. Because at your command, these waters can be stilled. Your voice can calm the waters raging within (“the sea in me”).
And so I wait. And listen. And weep. And mourn. Because none of it makes sense. NONE OF IT.
And this wave of grief, it calls me by name, and so I become one with the water. Because perhaps, just perhaps, it might offer a cleansing healing that is only found in surrender and in waiting.