I wrote about the relentless waves of grief in my book, but as ever, there is another side. Waves move incessantly, but they not only push forward, but sometimes they draw back. Sometimes the wind and unseen forces drive the waves so they crash loudly foaming on the shore. Other times they arrive at the shore in quiet ripples.
The sea is not always turbulent. Sometimes it is becalmed.
It doesn’t feel in the tumultous months and first years of early grief that there will ever be a pause, a calm, but it does come.
This week I have been on such a pause. After leading last week’s retreat, I needed my own retreat, to reflect and pray for those I walked beside for those few days (if you are reading this, you know who you are…be blessed), to cherish the memories of my children, but also importantly to rest my mind and soul. I did it largely through walking in beautiful places
in West Dorset, seeing swans and hills and coastal paths and waves and seashells, walking until I could not walk another step…
And that’s where I am at this moment, watching the sun starting to set on a gentle sea.