Ebbing

The waves of grief that pounded my shores just one month ago have receded to the depths and so far are staying there.  I don't have much to write which is exactly why I'm writing.  For those of you who are still being pounded by the waves every day and wondering if it will ever let up.  It will.  Even after the loss of two.  It will.

I don't feel like crying, I don't feel like shouting their names from the rooftop.  I don't feel much of anything.  Sometimes I think that's what happens when the grief comes on so strong after a period of time it just leaves me a little numb for a while.  I don't mind.  Wyatt and Eli are still in my heart and my thoughts.  I'm glad that thinking of them doesn't make me want to cry or crawl right into the wallpaper.  I've spent enough time in the servitude of grief and overall, grief hasn't served me all that well.  It is a necessary companionship, one of strength and growth, but it takes a lot of energy and determination.

I have a brand new picture hanging  in my hallway.  It is one of my four daughters, hand in hand standing on our balcony while at the beach last month, in the first beginning soft light of a beautiful sunrise.  Since the sunrise is at their backs, only their silhouettes are visible against the pastel light.  In the sunrise, it says  "We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness."