Grief has a strange ebb and flow, a rhythm all its own. Its like you are on the seashore and the tide’s coming in, the wave breaking on the shore; its one thing to see it from afar, something all together different when you are in the water.
As you live long enough, one learns that grief felt at a moment is just that much lesser than what the future will bring. You feel that the world is crashing down, then you somehow survive — this “worst moment” is overshadowed by another one in the future quite quickly.
Coming back to that wave, most importantly never ever turn your back to the sea. Once it hits you must just let it wash all over you, then let it go back from where it came and remember to stand with feet firmly planted on the ground; careful not to let it suck you in. It’s tricky this part, not matter how much you read or talk about it, you have to devise your own way. The sand shifting under your feet is an illusion, often making it look harder than it really is. Tricky, oh but i repeat myself.
Among the better things from such moments is the clarity it provides as to the things that most matter to you. Just nature’s way of bringing one back to the mirror, reflecting on where one had to go, where one is, the long road ahead, the very little time left and the need to make every moment count.