Grief is available in waves, unpredictable and relentless. One moment, you might feel like you're looking at solid ground, able to operate, even smile. Then, out of nowhere, a memory, a song, a familiar scent crashes over you, pulling you under. The type of grief isn't linear—it generally does not follow a direct path of healing. Instead, it ebbs and flows such as the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming. You may be thinking you've made peace along with your loss, simply to be blindsided by a powerful wave of sorrow. This unpredictability will make grief feel even more isolating, like nobody else understands why you're suddenly struggling again. But the stark reality is, this really is normal. Grief is not something we “get over”; it becomes part of us, shifting and changing over time.

Initially, the waves are constant, leaving little room to breathe. The pain is raw, fresh, and consuming, like being caught in a storm without sight of the shore. Every reminder of that which was lost feels like a punch to the chest. The simplest tasks become difficult, as grief drains energy and motivation. The planet moves on, but you feel stuck, unable to flee the cycle of sadness. With time, however, the waves become less frequent. They don't disappear, nevertheless they come with more space between, allowing moments of light to shine through. You may find yourself laughing again, enjoying small things, even feeling a sense of normalcy. However, just when you think you've found solid ground, another wave hits. This is frustrating, even discouraging—why, after so much progress, does the pain return? Because grief is love with nowhere to go, and love does not have an expiration date grief comes in waves.

Eventually, you figure out how to navigate the waves, even when they never fully stop. You begin to identify when they're coming, and you develop ways to brace yourself. Some waves are small, merely a ripple of sadness that passes quickly. Others are overwhelming, knocking you off your feet, forcing one to sit with your pain all over again. But with time, you realize that you are not drowning anymore. You're learning how exactly to float, just how to ride the waves rather than resisting them. The pain remains, nonetheless it no longer consumes you. You carry your loss differently—much less a weight that drags you down, but as a part of you, woven into your life. Healing does not mean forgetting; it means learning how to live with the waves rather than fearing them.

And perhaps the most crucial realization is that grief's waves do not just bring sorrow—in addition they bring love, connection, and memory. Each wave is an indication of how deeply you cared, of the moments you shared, of the impact they'd on your own life. Though the pain may be sharp, it's proof that love never truly leaves us. The waves will come unexpectedly, and they may bring tears, but they also carry warmth. They remind you that even in loss, there's love. Over time, you discover that the waves of grief do not merely pull you under—in addition they carry you forward, guiding you toward healing in their own unpredictable way.