I love this photo.
Some days are like this.
My grief is a warm ocean, a womb, and I am surrounded by it, held by it, protected.
The world is out there, but it is muffled and soft.
I don’t struggle.
I don’t panic.
Today is different.
Today my grief is an angry, roiling ocean with a mean riptide.
It wants to pull me out into deeper water and dash me against the jagged rocks of all my fears and failings.
I struggle, search for something to keep me afloat, tread water, panic.
I can’t breathe.
And now I wonder which came first – the angry ocean of grief or the frantic struggle against it.
Not that it matters.
It’s all here and I’m tired.