Grief is said to come in waves. I’ve found this to be true. It’s a helpful image, and intuitive, maybe because we ourselves are such watery beings, gestating in water and made of it, consuming it, bathing in it and dressing wounds with it for our entire lives. Thinking of grief as a series of waves helps me navigate (which is to say, anticipate and ride) the periodic swells, and how they crest, and how they break against you, and then recede.
