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Grief seems to be surrounding me like waves on a turbulent sea. Everywhere I turn, I hear another story of loss. Someone’s mother has died, another’s brother was just diagnosed with cancer. One friend has been grappling with infertility for years, and is trying not to give in to despair. Another is struggling with debt. Another is mourning the loss of her mate. Yet another is dealing with a recurrence of cancer that had gone into remission. My beloved friend Nora is weak but tenacious, savoring each day that she has left.
Now, more than ever, I turn to the things that bring me joy and peace. I light a candle each morning and murmur prayers for all those I remember and those I forget. I jot down gratitude lists. I write in my journal. I quiet myself. I press my cheek to Grandmother Cedar outside my back door. I follow the scent of salt water. I sketch and paint. I play with my website redesign. I meet a friend for coffee and writing at a favorite cafe. I go to yoga class. I walk. I try new foods. I shuffle the cards and throw the charms. I notice things. I inhale the fragrance of a luscious Northwest spring. I listen for stories. I wander beaches, collecting beach glass. Each piece is a gift from the Wild Mother Sea, all those sharp edges softened by the rough and rolling waves.
I walk in beauty, before me, behind me, above me, below me. Beauty all around me.
May you too walk in beauty, even in the midst of turbulent waves of grief.
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