A Grief As Big As The Sea

She has always loved the sea. It was so much like her that she never felt alone.

It was beautiful like her blue eyes, whose shade changed in the presence of the sun. It was deep like her thoughts, never seeking the surface, even when she so desperately gasped for air. It was dangerous like her feelings, calmly welcoming you with open arms, only to swallow you completely if you weren’t careful—or even worse, spew you out. It was intense, like the way she loved with every part of her being. It was overwhelming, like the way she wanted to be loved, down to the smallest beauty mark on her left cheek. It was just as unpredictable, impulsive, full of contradictions. It was both warmth and coldness, tranquility and anger, softness and roughness. It was her, and she was it. And just like the sea, she experienced everything in waves, including her grief.

The first one was the worst, a strong blow knocking her down to the very bottom. “She’s gone” was the last thing she heard before she went under, ears ringing, body sinking deeper and deeper, but never hitting the floor of the sea. The news never really sunk in, even though she did.

The second was even worse—a rage so intense that it left her in fragments and everything around her in debris. Like the remains of a sunken ship and the people it once carried, bits and pieces of her would float to the surface, waiting for another storm to destroy another boat.

The third must have been the worst, scanning the open sea for the smallest straws of hope to grasp so she wouldn’t drown. Could it all have been a nightmare? Would God bring her back? Maybe if she swam to the end of the earth? Maybe if she prayed every day? Maybe if she drank herself to sleep? How long until they would be reunited again?

The fourth was yet the worst. She couldn’t open her burning eyes, which were swelling in pain. Was it sea water or tears? She couldn’t tell. They were no longer blue, her eyes, but a shade of bright red, the color of late sunsets they used to watch together. She must have cried an entire sea.

The last was unquestionably the worst. She no longer had the power or the desire to resist. She lay on her back and let the wave guide her. It washed her ashore, memories and saltwater etched to her bones. Her soul weary, she knew her grief was there to stay, but so was the love left behind—until the end of time, as far as the sky, as big as the sea.