I wrote this short poem about a month after my brother died:
My grief is like an ocean swell
rolling toward shore.
It rises but never breaks.
It came to me while sitting quietly during a yoga class, breathing deeply. There were swells of grief but no tears. The stillness helped me put words to my feelings. I had cried when he died, but then it subsided. Too quiet. Where was my grief?
I came to learn it was still there. The tide was out, pulling back so I could regroup and gather strength. But it would return. Rolling in as sure as waves on a beach. After I lost my mother and then my husband, I discovered that each loss brings its own unique signature with its own rhythm, intensity and duration. The quality of each experience is as different as the person or relationship that’s been lost. But one thing is the same. Like tides, grief ebbs and flows, although mostly in unpredictable patterns. There is no tide chart. No lunar cycle. No pattern. Grief has a mind of its own.
Along with the tides, there are waves that break and waves that dissipate. Feelings that rise up and move you to cry, or that well up but then disappear. Agitated stormy waves that hurl you about. These create irritability and anger at the world. A simple frustration may set them off. Gentle waves that constantly lap at the shore of your being. These seep into the crevices of your soul, bringing with them a sense of emptiness or dread. Then there are Tsunami waves that overwhelm and flood the landscape of your sense of self. These feel intense, engulfing, and disorienting. They may sweep you into intense currents of emotion, pushing you to cry and mourn deeply. When it recedes there may be exhaustion, but also some relief. In the early stages of grief, all of these may rotate through you. Some concurrently.
As time goes by, you adapt to your new life without your loved one, and the waters feel calmer. Despite that, it is still possible that a powerful surge of grief can hit without warning. This is called a S.T.U.G. — a Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief, a term defined by grief expert Dr. Therese Rando in the early ’90s. In his article entitled The Blindside Wipeout of Grief, Jackson Rainer describes it this way: “It is an intense, unexpected wave of emotionality that comes on occasion to someone who has experienced the loss of a loved intimate, sometimes long after the person’s death.” The sudden upsurge can temporarily disrupt your sense of stability, disturb the assumptive world you’ve worked so hard to rebuild and awaken old grief residue. When it happens years after a loss, it can feel alarming. But don’t panic. It is normal. Don’t fight it. Accepting grief as a part of life is difficult, but necessary to move forward.
It is hard to predict what might trigger a S.T.U.G., a favorite shared song coming on the radio, a sensory memory such as a smell, driving by a place frequented together or maybe a subsequent loss. It might be an internal cue of which you may not even be aware. Don’t try and figure out what triggered it while you are in the surge. It is easier to make sense of it once the wave has passed and you are safely on dry land.
In many parts of the world, local folklore predicts that out of a set of waves, one will be much larger than the rest. Surfers often call this the Seventh Wave. This is not the same as a S.T.U.G. which takes you by surprise. Reading the ocean for a pattern makes for better surfing. Although waves of grief are often unpredictable, there are times when the tide is more likely to come in, bringing with it bigger surges. Those can be anticipated. For example, I can feel the groundswell gathering when nearing the anniversary of a loss, or approaching the holidays, my wedding anniversary or a birthday. Learning to plan for these times, arranging to be with family or friends, or scheduling an activity or trip that helps you divert the pain is helpful. This is not the same as avoidance. Avoidance is running away without any self-awareness. Paying attention to your body, actively recognizing what you are feeling and creating an experience that helps you through it, is a mindful choice that honors your loss.
Although you can plan for the Seventh Wave, how you might ultimately surf it has many variables. You might wipe out and get sand in your swimsuit, you might lose your nerve and decide not to paddle out, you might go for it and have an epic ride or you might do it but just manage to survive. Whatever your experience, it’s okay. Healing from grief is imperfect. Have compassion for yourself. There is no linear path.
Over time I learned to be a stronger swimmer, to know when I needed a lifejacket by reaching out to others. I figured out how to circumvent the rip currents that tried to pull me away from what grounded me and gave me joy in life — my family, friends, pets, work and hobbies. I found that diving into the grief when it rolled in, instead of holding it at bay, often delivered me to safer shores. Tranquility, calm. I could float and enjoy the peace and relaxation that came between. To heal from grief, it is just as important to learn to accept joy and laughter, friendship and care, adventure and creativity, whenever and however they touch your life, as it is to allow yourself to express your sadness.
These plants and seashells
are the earth and the sea.
I can cultivate the land and grow flowers.
I can swim in the ocean and
feel the journey of the battered seashells
as the surge rearranges the shoreline.
— Martha Carr