how sorrow works
It’s like this.
Sunday was a sneaker wave, swooping at me, I was off guard, not fair! It let me come up for air a few times. I thought I was safe, this time.
By Monday morning, I was drowning. I worked out, I got dressed, I drove my daughter to school, I drank my coffee, I went to work. I couldn’t breath. I was underwater.
This morning I woke up on the beach, sun warmed, surf rolling. (Sometime during the night, I was washed to shore.)
Today, I’ll have a drink with friends, I’ll play yahtzee with my daughter, I’ll hold my husband’s hand, I’ll revel in the pure joy of having a desk at an office doing grown up work, I’ll light all the candles, I’ll play all the Christmas music.
And I’ll be drowned again. Probably soon. Maybe tomorrow, or it might be next week. A song, a picture, a sparkling water.
I won’t panic when I’m swept out. I always find my way back to shore.
This is the way of sorrow.