Tsunamis

Tides are a natural rhythym of earth's water flow...the pull on our great bodies of water as we spin around the sun and the moon circles us in ever dizzying dance moves. The great waters move in and out with thoughts of their own about where they go and when and why. My grief moves through me as a natural huge body of pain, ebbing and growing with a mind of its own about when it comes and when it slows and why. I feel the weight of life's pain as I live longer and experience more. It isn't exactly depression. I have felt depression's pull, which is darker and deeper and pulls in a much sharper downward expression. This is brightly colored with reds and purples and fushias of torture. One after another has pounded on the shores of my psyche. I have been losing good friends lately, one after another, three of them this year. But in the beginning it was my mom, dying in proper order, without fuss or suffering, classy, pointing the way. I put off the shrieking voices in my head about her loss as I felt obliged to honor her memory, her stoic, and God fearing soul. On the shelf that pain went, to be honored and examined, but not to be screamed about. Then my husband, my partner, my other half. Not physically gone, leaving his body behind and the sound of his voice, just as a special kind of torture. But gone, nonetheless, his vacant staring eyes in the face of grief, my body aching for his to hold me as he always would, as he always did, but no, not any more. At the most, patting my hand lightly, aimlessly, guessing that he used to say or do something, but not able to conjure up any reasons or ways. My small dog who snatched up my heart completely, allowing me to focus on something warm and sweet. He yapped and jumped and licked my face on Sunday afternoon and was dead by Monday morning. My new friend, my shrink, who really understood me, who stood witness to the depths of my despair and my guilt, and still found me worthy. Gone in her youth, her children motherless, her patients lost. My ethereal grand dog, the greyhound, pressing her body into mine while I cried, her face in my chest. Playing with her old playmates on Sunday and dead by Tuesday morning. Wave after wave, despair and keening in the air, colors vivid and loud. This is not the music of depression. This is grief, overwhelming and unending, crashing on the shores of my heart, carving pockets and pools of despair in my soul. I have had great blessings in my life and continue to find luck in family and friends. I guess with great fortune in love, comes great pain in loss.