Riptide

I can't believe I'm going to admit to this, but here it goes: I am looking forward to coming home from vacation, from the very vacation we have yet to embark on, so that I can cozy in at home and live my boring, predictable, comfortable little life.  I am sorry to say that I am in denial that we are actually leaving.  I am not behaving like someone who is soon to hit the road.  I've got a list a mile long and do you know what I just did?  I baked a batch of cherry pie muffins - a task that was not on my long list.  But it sure smells good in here.  So good, I feel even less like leaving.  And so it goes.

It makes little sense and then it makes all the sense in the world.  We are closing in on the one week that leaves me feeling upended year after year.  It's not something I can run away from no matter how fast or far I travel.  I know that grief is destined to be my companion on this trip.  For the most part, I even welcome it.  The strong sense of loss I sit beside reminds me of the gifts that were mine.  They are mine.  Treasures.  I know this,  but I am riding this raging wave of grief right now that makes it harder to embrace, and more challenging to remain sure footed and standing upright.  I feel like I am caught in the undertow, gasping for a breath...on the verge of drowning.  Yet when I close my eyes, I picture, not my lungs filling up with water, but me the swimmer proceeding parallel to the shore.  I don't panic. There is no sense in fighting the riptide.  I plod along sideways to the safety of the shore accepting Mother Nature and fate.  I am buoyed up by the knowledge that the tides will turn soon.  I trust that as long as I can see the shore, I will feel the solid warmth of the sand before long.  Just keep swimming I tell myself.  Keep your head above water is what I say, and for the love of God... Breathe.