A Tsunami

Whoa. Saturday hit hard. Out of seemingly nowhere.

The wave metaphor for grief has always made sense to me. When you're first faced with loss, you are lost at sea holding on to whatever you can to survive. The waves are tall and relentless as they constantly crash down on you, throwing you underwater and making you lose all sense of direction. As time goes on, the waves get a little less tall and a little further apart. After awhile, you might even experience some brief respite of calm seas. The storm is still there, but it's not as bad.

Well, on Saturday there must have been an earthquake because I got hit by a tsunami.

(For the purpose of this post, I searched tidal wave v. tsunami to learn which was worse.)

Oh man, I don't remember the last time I felt like that...

I remember having a rough time in March, but this was worse than that. This was deep, guttural, primal, crushing, and devastating. And there was no way to stop it. No way out.

I think I know what caused the earthquake. There was a summer festival downtown. Vendors, food trucks, live music. It was fun. We went for a bit, got hot, came home, and returned in the evening where we sat outside at a brewery and had a couple of beers. 

There were kids. Cute kids playing in the grass, playing with dogs, playing with toys that they brought in a bag while their families enjoyed leisure time together outside in the setting sun. 

I hadn't been around kids since I left pediatrics in December. 

Nobody was watching them. Their parents were distracted by conversation. My eyes were glued to them. I was trying not to stare but one little girl looked a little too young to be climbing the short brick wall she had found. Once a teacher, always a teacher... I just couldn't help it.

The tears started before we even got home. We were walking and I warned my boyfriend, "I'm gonna cry." To his credit, he did a great job of trying to distract me, trying to get me thinking or laughing about something else. It just didn't work this time.

I wasn't very fun for the rest of the night. :(

I cried. And cried. And cried and cried. My eyeballs hurt.

If I'd had kids, I wouldn't be watching them 24/7, I know that. I don't judge those parents for enjoying their time with friends. Their kids weren't unsafe. No one was near a street and all the kids were playing nicely. 

I just wanted to have kids. Even though they'd be past the little kid stage by now.

It was a tsunami of grief. 

After the crying had run through my system, I went outside and lied down on the grass to look at the stars. Yes, I'm thankful and, yes, I like my life. But this was a moment of deep grief and there wasn't anything to do but to feel it.

I remembered that I used to live like this. This used to be how I felt every damn day.

I slept like a rock on Saturday night. I was still tired on Sunday. I felt hungover from grief. It wasn't from the beers. It takes more than a couple of light beers to do that. This was definitely from grief.

Today is better. Time marches on. I think it'll be a long time before I feel like that again.

Holidays I can count on. IVF anniversaries, no doubt. I can see those dates coming.
But days out of the blue? When the grief hits like a brick wall at top speed?

We do what we can. Sometimes we ride the wave. Sometimes we just do our best not to sink.