Rocky Boat

Rocky Boat

There are days when my insides just feel unsettled.

Ungrounded.

If I were a boat, it would be on a day when the waves were choppy. The sky, gray.

No rhyme or reason for this kind of weather.

It catches me off guard.

So my footing is off.

It’s scary.

My throat is tight

because I am acutely aware

I am weathering a storm without my right-hand person.

I am acutely aware

I am weathering it alone.

There are no tools in my grief-repairing toolbox to fix this.

I just have to be wobbly, until the storm passes.

I can radio confidants so I know I am not completely alone

in this vast ocean.

But I am so acutely aware, that I am alone

in this boat

where there once were two.

And I just need to right this boat with the new weight that is just me.

Feel the weight of sadness and loneliness.

“This will not last forever,” I tell myself.

“The weather will change.”

The imbalance will eventually right itself

For now, missing my partner is my reality.

And I can wrap myself in that

like an oversized wool blanket

Instead of trying to change it.

I write this on a morning when I know my friend is missing her mom who passed away several months ago. Her voice is shaky and she is not sure she can manage going to work. She goes anyway. Off in her rocky boat, on a stormy day. My heart aches for her.

It is such a solo event that happens during the grieving process. All I can do for her is be her witness. That is sometimes a huge gift in itself. The thing that can shore up a vessel. Sometimes it doesn’t do anything but just let the grieving person know they are not alone while they’re suffering. Makes it a tad less lonely.

As anyone who has lost a loved one eventually knows, these painful days have their value.

They are experiences that grow compassion in us. They strengthen our ability to live with duality. Pain and pleasure. Love and loss. To know how two opposites can exist in the same scenario. To know there may be other storms worse than this.

For me, I see I am not as afraid of storms as I used to be. Maybe too, these rocky boat days make us less fearful of our own death. That when our day arrives, the people who have already made this unknowable journey will have made it easier for us. And it may not be so hard to surrender to it. That we’d have that duality of gratitude for the life we are leaving while surrendering to what lies ahead.

Still, none of this is helpful on the day of the storm, when all we want is our mother back.

For my dearheart, Sarina