An Ocean of Grief

by Alex Hopper

Feel the sand beneath your feet. The water rushes across your ankles. As you wade out past the breakers, you begin to feel the strength of the sea.

Waves come and go.

Rise and fall.

A never-ending cycle.

Some waves are gentle. Jump high enough and you just might soar, if only for a fleeting moment. Other waves seem to come out of nowhere, and by the time you see them, it is too late. They rise against you with such enormity, threatening to take you away. As they crash down upon you with impossible force, you are swept below the sea, and left struggling to reach the surface.

This is grief.

Constantly ebbing and flowing as the coming in and the going out of the tide. At times, you simply rest on the surface, breathing. Then there are the moments you have to fight to keep your head above the water, above the drowning sea of grief. You thrash and cry as it pulls you under, to depths where only darkness exists. Where light and hope are extinguished. Slowly and painfully you rise to the surface. Feel the current, the silent force that pulls you away a little at a time, until you look up to the shore --the shore of your new life --and you realize just how far you've gone.

The current of grief changes you, shapes you into something new.

Something better…

Something worse…

Something different…

A NEW you.

You try to swim against the current, to fight the grief, but it is useless. Try as you might, you cannot escape it. Grief is required. Because you love, you grieve, and the greater the love, the greater the grief.

So let it take you, let it change you, because the truth is, you will NEVER be the same, and that is okay, in fact, it is beautiful.

~ ~ ~

Alex Hopper is a writer in North Carolina. She is married to her beloved, Trent, and mommy to her angel, Cyrus. Cyrus was diagnosis with a fatal birth defect in the womb at 12 weeks. He was carried with love until he was born at 33 weeks on November 25, 2013. He lived for 1 hour and 9 minutes. His life was short, but his legacy lives on.