Dealing with Grief: Understanding the Waves of Loss
Finding Meaning in the Pain of Loss
At Our Grieving Hearts, we know that dealing with grief can feel overwhelming, especially if you are coping with the death of a child. It’s a journey no one ever wishes to take, yet one that reshapes life in profound ways. Grief has many faces, sadness, anger, guilt, and even brief moments of peace and it doesn’t follow a timeline or a rulebook.
Sometimes, poetry or words from others who have walked a similar path can bring comfort, perspective, and hope. We came across a beautiful analogy on Reddit that captures the experience of dealing with grief with honesty and tenderness — a reminder that love endures, even after unimaginable loss.
The Waves of Grief
“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is, that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbours, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.
My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love.
And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
Author: GSnow
Learning to Float Again
At Our Grieving Hearts, we understand the lifelong impact of child loss and the strength it takes to keep going. You don’t have to face the waves alone — our community is here to hold you up when you need it most.
Are you Dealing with Grief? Join Our Next Support Group
If you’re dealing with grief and feel ready to take a gentle step toward connection and healing, we invite you to join our next support group. Together, we share stories, honour our children’s memories, and help one another find comfort in community.
You are not alone — and you are always welcome here.