Grief is available in waves, unpredictable and relentless. One moment, you could feel just like you're looking at solid ground, able to function, even smile. Then, out of left field, a memory, a tune, a familiar scent crashes over you, pulling you under. The nature of grief is not linear—it doesn't follow a straight path of healing. Instead, it ebbs and flows such as the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming. You might think you've made peace together with your loss, only to be blindsided by an intense wave of sorrow. This unpredictability could make grief feel a lot more isolating, like no one 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 an integral 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 with no sight of the shore. Every reminder of that which was lost feels just like a punch to the chest. The simplest tasks become difficult, as grief drains energy and motivation. The entire world moves on, but you're feeling stuck, unable to escape the cycle of sadness. With time, however, the waves become less frequent. They cannot disappear, however they come with an increase of space between, allowing moments of light to shine through. You may find yourself laughing again, enjoying small things, even feeling an expression of normalcy. But then, just when you think you've found solid ground, another wave hits. This can be frustrating, even discouraging—why, after so much progress, does the pain return? Because grief is love with nowhere to go, and love does not need an expiration date.

Eventually, you figure out how to navigate the waves, even when they never fully stop. You begin to identify when they are coming, and you develop approaches to brace yourself. Some waves are small, merely a ripple of sadness that passes quickly. Others are overwhelming, knocking you off the feet, forcing one to sit together with your pain all over again. But eventually, you realize that you are not drowning anymore. You are learning how exactly to float, how to ride the waves in place of resisting them. The pain is still there, but it no further consumes you. You carry your loss differently—never as a weight that drags you down, but as a part of you, woven into your life. Healing doesn't mean forgetting; it indicates understanding how to deal with the waves instead of fearing them   grief comes in waves.

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 a note of how deeply you cared, of the moments you shared, of the impact they had on your own life. Although the pain may be sharp, it's proof that love never truly leaves us. The waves may come unexpectedly, and they could bring tears, but additionally they carry warmth. They remind you that even in loss, there is love. With time, you discover that the waves of grief do not merely pull you under—additionally they carry you forward, guiding you toward healing in their very own unpredictable way.