Grief will come in waves, unpredictable and relentless. One moment, you may feel just like you're looking at solid ground, able to function, even smile. Then, out of left field, a memory, a tune, a familiar scent crashes over you, pulling you under. The nature of grief isn't linear—it generally does not follow a straight path of healing. Instead, it ebbs and flows such as the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming. You might think you've made peace along with your loss, simply to be blindsided by a powerful wave of sorrow. This unpredictability can make grief feel much more isolating, like no-one else understands why you're suddenly struggling again. But the stark reality is, this really is normal. Grief is not at all something we “get over”; it becomes part of us, shifting and changing over time.

At first, the waves are constant, leaving little room to breathe. The pain is raw, fresh, and consuming, like being caught in a storm without sight of the shore. Every reminder of the thing that was lost feels such as a punch to the chest. The simplest tasks become difficult, as grief drains energy and motivation. The world moves on, but you are feeling stuck, unable to escape the cycle of sadness. Over time, however, the waves become less frequent. They cannot disappear, but they come with increased space among, allowing moments of light to shine through. You could find yourself laughing again, enjoying small things, even feeling a feeling of normalcy. But, just once you think you've found solid ground, another wave hits. This is often frustrating, even discouraging—why, after so much progress, does the pain return? Because grief is love with nowhere to go, and love does not need an expiration date  grief comes in waves.

Eventually, you learn how to navigate the waves, even when they never fully stop. You begin to recognize when they are coming, and you develop ways to brace yourself. Some waves are small, just a ripple of sadness that passes quickly. Others are overwhelming, knocking you off the feet, forcing one to sit along with your pain throughout again. But with time, you realize that you're not drowning anymore. You are learning how to float, just how to ride the waves instead of resisting them. The pain remains, but it no longer consumes you. You carry your loss differently—never as a weight that drags you down, but as part of you, woven into your life. Healing does not mean forgetting; it indicates learning how to deal with the waves instead of fearing them.

And perhaps the main realization is that grief's waves do not just bring sorrow—additionally they bring love, connection, and memory. Each wave is a memory of how deeply you cared, of the moments you shared, of the impact they had in your life. Although pain could be sharp, it's proof that love never truly leaves us. The waves will come unexpectedly, and they may bring tears, but in addition they carry warmth. They remind you that even yet in loss, there's love. With time, you discover that the waves of grief do not merely pull you under—they also carry you forward, guiding you toward healing in their very own unpredictable way.