Waves and Bear Hunts

I've never liked the ocean. It's deep. It's scary. It's constantly changing. Although the ocean brings destruction, tragedy, and loss to thousands of people each year, it also brings beauty and beautiful things are found all around it, in it, and above it,

Funny how life is so much like that. Even funnier how much grief is like that. Funny isn't even the word I mean, maybe I mean ironic?

A couple of months before the worst day of my life, Keri had started singing "Going on a Bear Hunt" with the kids. We watched a video on YouTube and the kids love it because of all of the motions and repetition of the song. Primarily the parts that says, "Can't go over it, can't go under it, we have to go through it."

Again, funny (not funny) how much life and grief is like that song.

I've seen many things about how grief is like ocean waves. I may have even posted one. The thing is, it's so true. At some points, you feel like you are surfing or boogie boarding on top of the wave: "normal", smiling, happy, laughing. But then the wave gets too big or too strong and reminds you of its power and knocks you off of that surf board. Suddenly, you are pulled back into that deep, dark place in the ocean of grief. You can't breathe. You feel the salt water on your face from the tears that ripple up through your soul and out your eyes. Your stomach churns just like the under current and makes you want to just curl up and hide in the dark again.

"Can't go over it, can't go under it, we have to go through it."

The waves subside and we pull ourselves back up on our surfboards of sunshine as we remember the fun times, the happy memories, the big, big smiles that warmed our hearts. And for a while, we feel "normal" again, we smile, we laugh, we maybe even have moments where we are happy. Then we know the currents and waves begin to build back up, and we know we'll get knocked off again in the vicious cycle of life and grief.

I hate the ocean. It's deep (sometimes it feels too deep to bear). It's scary (sometimes it makes you feel like a little kid afraid of the dark again). It's constantly changing (my emotions are as waving as the grief itself).

But like I said, there is also beauty. There is beauty in knowing that not one unkind word was ever spoken about my sister. There is beauty in the love and support shown from family, friends, and even people you don't even know because they knew how wonderful she is. There is beauty in the stories that people tell when remembering her and how she touched their lives because "That's our Keri". There is beauty in the laugh of my favorite Littles when I tell them a funny story about their mama from when we were little kids because I see her smile and hear her giggle. There is beauty knowing that Keri lead and continues to lead people to Christ by the way she lived every single moment of her life. The most beautiful thing is knowing that one day we will see each other again in Heaven.

So, although the loss is real and deep and scary. "Can't go over it," 
And the grief is overwhelming sometimes like the ocean waves.  "Can't go under it"
There is still beauty around it, in it, and above it. "We just have to go through it!"