It Comes in Waves

A walk on the beach—with Grief.

Today is breezy and gentle. The spring rain has washed away the harsh sun; the overcast sky invites in a calm.

In sandaled feet, I dodge puddles in the beach parking lot, only to kick off my shoes the minute I step off the boardwalk. The sand is still damp from the rain and molds perfectly around my feet as I stride toward the ocean.

A cool tide sweeps up to meet me, and I choose to walk to the right rather than the left, for no particular reason. My pace is steady, jaunty—almost playful—as I weave in and out of the water’s reach. Over time, my shoulders begin to fall, my breath syncing with the rhythm of the waves. The sun will set soon. Warm pinks and oranges are beginning to spill across the sky.

As I slowly become aware of my body, my breath, my surroundings—feeling fully present—I wait for Joy to arrive. I wait for a smile to tug across my face. I wait for peace to flood my chest. I wait.

I hear laughter. It’s familiar—bright, light, dancing across the wind and over the water. I glance around to place the voice, but I’m alone.

I stop walking—this is as good a place as any—and turn to watch the sun settle over the ocean. And that’s when I see us: a memory, flickering just beyond the shoreline. We’re bobbing in the waves, dancing, wild and laughing.

My heart sinks. I know—Joy isn’t coming.

“Damn it, old friend,” I mutter, turning to find Grief already standing beside me. “Of course you would find me here.”

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud cackle and a child’s delighted squeal.

“Here comes a big one!” she shouts.

I turn intuitively toward the sound. My seven-year-old arms are wrapped around her neck. I’m reeling with joy.

“Jump!” she calls.

“Jump!” I echo, launching myself over the swelling wave.

I swim back to her and wrap my legs around her waist for safety. She brushes my wet hair from my face and kisses my cheek.

“Ready for the next?” she asks.

I nod and beam.

I remember it all—how we played for hours in the ocean.

I watch us now from the shore, with tears in my eyes, as she dances with me in the surf, holding my hand, my head resting on her shoulder. My chest tightens. A wave of panic surges, like an undertow. I’m caught, gasping.

I miss her so badly, I cry to Grief, my voice breaking.

Almost instinctively, I reach for Grief’s hand and intertwine my fingers with theirs. They welcome it. We stand like that for a long moment, breathing together as the muddled sun finally sizzles into the Atlantic.

Time to walk back to the car.

But before I move, Grief squeezes my hand. I don’t pull away. I squeeze back.

A strange euphoria washes over me. Grief’s friendship is the price of love. And I have loved fiercely, with abandon.

And so we walk, with gratitude, hand in hand.