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  • Writer's pictureRaina Irene

The Wave

It's coming.

I can feel it begin to well... Like the swell of and ocean wave out in the distance. You know that the water you are seeing, will become an enormous wave of intensity and grandiose symmetry, all of its own. Then, all of a sudden you are no longer watching it. You are within it. You are beneath it. You are it! You are the wave of grief. You are inside this grandiose, loving sorrow and it is purging you of all that was once calm.

You fear if you surrender to it, it will wash you out to the depths of the sea and drown you, before you have a chance to paddle towards shore. Yet the truth of the wave is that it is, yes, consuming, but it is also what allows you to continue to swim. If we hold our breath and turn away, we may never exhale. Diving in, swimming in our personal ocean of tears is how we strengthen our limbs that have atrophied from completely becoming invisible to what we once were. The wave is harsh, and the wave is brutal. It tosses us in directions we had no idea we were capable of recoiling to, and there is no escaping the power of the ocean we have now become.

So, I dive into the wave and embrace the pain that will always be within the ocean of my heart, that needs this water to wash over it, again and again, and forever. Could it be that my ocean is healing me? That the tears are Josiah washing over me. He was larger than the entire ocean, and his depth of love was deeper than the sea. Then, the wave would be from him, for me. For love. For healing, and to remind me that we are still swimming in the loving grandiose of this journey, together.

So, I cry. I cry for him. I cry because there is no way out, except through. And I welcome the wave. I welcome that part of me that is here to stay. I welcome the love of my son as I surrender to his magnificence.

And then the wave recedes, and I sit on the sand of my pain. It is rough, like millions on sandy granules that cover the shore. But it is warm, it is shiny from my sons' rays. I look at the ocean once more. The calm has returned, and I continue until we meet again, which we will. and I am okay with that. Because... This is part of me.

I am an ocean.


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