Grief is like the sea.

It ebbs and flows.
It swells and recedes.
It roars violently as it storms,
crashing with fury and flashes of lightning.

Sailors fear the sea.
A fear of awe and wonder.
A fear of reverence.

For the sea has a will of its own.
It will not be reasoned with or bargained down.
It is a force unto itself.

You can turn your back on it.
Ignore it.
Avoid it.

It will still be there.

Its waves will batter the shore of your soul.
At times pulling you under.
Until you’re drowning.

The more you kick and thrash,
the deeper it draws you in.

The sea inspires fear. Almost demands it.
But if you stand and face it,
it will reveal its secrets.

Its beauty.
Its majesty.

You can learn to swim in it.
Let it press against you.
Reveal your strength.

Its waves give rise to patience.
Endurance.
A quiet kind of temperance.

Its rhythm can still you.
Carry you into reflection.
Into contemplation.

And if you learn to sail it,
it will take you to new shores—
places you never imagined.

There is no escape from the sea.
Only a choice.

To resist it.
Or to respect its depth
and accept the gift it offers.

The gift of feeling.
Of loving something so deeply
that its absence leaves an ocean behind.

The gift of knowledge.
Of a heart capable of heights of great joy
and depths of great sorrow.

Deep as the sea.