Grief

The waves crash down on me. They tumble me around, the saltwater stinging my eyes, the turbulence filling my ears. The sand and debris catch in my hair and scratch my skin. My heart is pounding like thunder in my chest. My breath escapes my lungs in bursts as I frantically reach in all directions. I’m looking for the light but all I see is murkiness and tangles of remnants. As I run out of air and the panic takes over, I kick wildly and without intention. I can taste the salt and feel it burning in my nose, when at last I breach through the water’s surface and suck in an enormous breath of seawater and air.

I sputter and gasp, cough and hiss. I flounder as I struggle to clear my lungs. I try to clear my mind from the fog caused by the thrashing I’ve just muddled through. The air is thick and gray. My skin is pruned and raw. My limbs ache with exhaustion. The sea roars in my ears. I feel heavy from exertion, but I continue to search for a way out. At last I think I can see the shore.

I start to push myself towards what may be salvation. For a moment the skies look like they may be clearing, though my sight is still blurred from saltwater. I take long, deep breaths, even though my chest aches from effort. And for just a blip I feel forward momentum. My heart flutters with hope and the tightness in my muscles relaxes for an instant.