Grief is an ocean and you are a boat. Sometimes it is calm and you can sail above your grief and sometimes waves wash over you and threaten to pull you under.
Grief is a shadow. Sometimes it is bright and the shadow is very obvious. Sometimes it is darker and the shadow is more subtle. But it is always there, following right beside you and if you look you can find it.
Grief is an earthquake. The main event can send you to your knees and tear down things around you. Afterwards as you try to put the pieces back together you have aftershocks. You don’t know where or when they will hit exactly and they can be small or they can shake you to your foundations and send things crashing down around you again.
Grief is a wound, a terrible wound, which will leave a terrible scar. It is important to pay attention to it, but you have to try and give it peace when you can. The scar will never go away and it will hurt sometimes, but if you pick at it too much it will fester. You have to just wait and let it start to heal and scab over a little so that you can keep going.
Grief is a gap. A hole ripped in the middle of a blanket. A piece missing in the middle and all the other pieces have to be mended and held together in new ways. As you try and patch things you notice the things that the piece was holding which are now missing or unraveling. No matter how clever you are that gap will always be there and things will always not be quite right.
Grief is terribly lonely, because the person I most want to talk to about it isn’t available.