When I was a child, we lived near the beach in Virginia. My mom, my brothers and another Navy wife with her three children all went one day.
Oh, I need to tell you that my mom could not swim. So, she stayed on the beach, chatting and watching her children.
Well, something happened that I still remember today.
I was caught in an undertow. I remember being tossed around like a rag doll, spinning head over heel, scared, drowning. Then, it was if I heard a voice. Stand up. it said, put your feet on the sand and push. I did and my head broke out of the water into the wonderful air.
I was so out of breath. I staggered to where my mom and others were sitting on a blanket. I told her what had happened. She had me sit on the blanket near her until I could get calmed down. I did and eventually went back into the water but only up to just above me knees.
No way was I going to try that again. I did later on and still love the beach today.
I've found out that grief is like an undertow. I can be walking down the aisle of a store and feel the rush of grief overpower me. I start to breathe differently. I cannot focus on much of any thing. And, it just keeps coming.
People are trying to comfort me by comparing the death of their brother, or sister, or any one else, to what has happened to my son. It doesn't help.
Because there is no pain like the pain of loosing one of your children.
The grief keeps coming. I think about his children, how young they are, how their story will be all of their lives....my daddy died when I was 8, my daddy died when I was 6.
It breaks my heart.
I don't understand. It doesn't make sense. I am drowning.
I hang on because I have my daughter and my son.
Thank God for the voice.
Thank God for my children.