Grief Ebbs And Flows Quotes

Grief is like the ocean. The waves ebb and flow. Sometimes the water is calm. Other times it's turbulent. In order to survive, I had to learn to swim. In moments when I struggled with massive waves of grief, I rode it out.

Some days it was bearable; some days it burned. Grief was like the great Southern Ocean; it moved in ebbs and flows, often turbulent and rough, or peaceful and settled, and even over time when I could navigate the waters, the tide never stopped.

Grief doesn’t come in stages. Frankly, it would be easier if it did. It ebbs and flows like waves. Bad days always follow good days, but better days are never far behind.

The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow – Hope shining upon the tears of grief.

Understand there’s no right or wrong way to grieve, including anticipatory grief. It’s like the ocean. It ebbs and it flows. There can be moments of calm. But out of nowhere, it can feel like you're drowning.

If you are able to extend grace to yourself to see yourself as the imperfect human that you are, full of the complicated feelings that accompany a loss, feelings that ebb and flow, you will be more able to extend it to others as well. When we refuse to offer ourselves grace and accept whatever we are experiencing, we make it harder to move through it, and we make it nearly impossible for others to effectively help us. Grief is a tricky beast, and there is no such thing as grieving "perfectly." Be prepared to extend grace to those around you, but most importantly, you need to extend grace to yourself.

Grief is like cancer. It ebbs and flows within you. Then, it changes and transforms you. Forever. Grief. Cancer. Both force you to face your worst fear—death. Grief and cancer. Both undermine your optimism of life. You finally see the cup is really just half full, even if you believed otherwise your whole life. Both teach you to believe that bad things can happen to people, whether they’re good or bad or rich or poor or young or old, alike. Grief and cancer corner the market for all. Grief and cancer take all comers. Both rule. Do they always win? I begin to wonder.

Grief is a funny thing the way it ebbs and flows. Time does ease the bite of it, but it can sneak up on you, out of nowhere and crush you just as harshly as it did the very first day.

The present onslaught leaves no space for mourning, since mourning requires an afterwards, but only for repeated shock and the ebb and flow of grief. We who are not there, witnessing from afar, in what ways are we mutilating ourselves when we dissociate to cope? To remain human at this juncture is to remain in agony. Let us remain there: it is the more honest place from which to speak.

First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence such beauty and what the meaning; such an oracular fever! flowing past windows, an energy it seemed would never ebb, never settle less than lovely! and only now, deep into night, it has finally ended. The silence is immense, and the heavens still hold a million candles; nowhere the familiar things: stars, the moon, the darkness we expect and nightly turn from. Trees glitter like castles of ribbons, the broad fields smolder with light, a passing creekbed lies heaped with shining hills; and though the questions that have assailed us all day remain—not a single answer has been found— walking out now into the silence and the light under the trees, and through the fields, feels like one.

I wonder how long he’ll be sad. I wonder if his sadness will last forever, stretching on like an ocean. Drowning everyone he cares about. Drowning people he doesn’t even know. He won’t be able to control it. Oceans ebb and flow as they wish. They cover everything. They make everything blue.

If I flinched at every grief, I would be an intelligent idiot. If I were not the sun, I’d ebb and flow like sadness. If you were not my guide, I’d wander lost in Sanai. If there were no light, I’d keep opening and closing the door. If there were no rose garden, where would the morning breezes go? If love did not want music and laughter and poetry, what would I say? If you were not medicine, I would look sick and skinny. If there were no leafy limbs in the air, there would be no wet roots. If no gifts were given, I’d grow arrogant and cruel. If there were no way into God, I would not have lain in the grave of this body so long. If there were no way from left to right, I could not be swaying with the grasses. If there were no grace and no kindness, conversation would be useless, and nothing we do would matter. Listen to the new stories that begin every day. If light were not beginning again in the east, I would not now wake and walk out inside this dawn.

There comes a point in one's life where the people whom we grew up admiring begin to die, leaving a great chasm in the world. This is awful enough to deal with without having anything so annoying as feelings getting in the way of personal equanimity. And then, possibly even more horribly, there comes a time in one's life when the people whom we grew up with or the people who are in our same age group begin to die. I have had the disagreeable business of having to watch colleagues only a few years my senior perish without warning, though premonition would not soften the blow. I am now realizing that I am entering this time, the dreadful gateway of existence, the one that leads to watching the ebb and flow of time, the great rote and sussuration of life and death, and being able to do nothing but welter in misery and pine over the dregs of hideous mortality. Death is an unaccountable business, one that robs the living of the peace we believe to be --perhaps mistakenly-- our birthright, one which asks the living to pay for the departed in the currency of feelings, leaving us to wallow in emotional debt. There is a loneliness about behind left behind as is there a thrill of horror for what lies beyond. The sum total of living is to sacrifice peace in favour of finding it, which makes little sense at all. I often wonder if the dead know we grieve for them, as the penury of pity only disconcerts ourselves. It is poor comfort, the business of mourning, for what is there really to mourn about excepting our own desire for reconciliation, something which no one, not even the dead, can furnish?

Grief is not a linear process; it ebbs and flows, possibly for the rest of your life. Stay with the feelings as they arise. Let them flow through you without judgment.

Like love, grief was boundless, and eternal. It flowed all throughout a body and flooded all the space around it, drowned you again every time you took another breath. Only time would tell how much the tide might ebb, but sure as the sea was ruled by the moon, it would roll back in again. You would be touched by its swash for the rest of your days. And no matter who stood beside you in solidarity, you were an island, in the end.

Through sorrow's maze, I journey slow, Emotions swirl, tide's ebb and flow. Denial whispers, "This can't be real," Anger surges, a storm I feel. Bargaining seeks a way to bend, Acceptance whispers, "Time to mend.

grief comes in waves and patterns. It flows, ebbs, and returns, claiming its way through the chest, the heart, and the brain.

This is an ongoing journey. The waves of grief and loss ebb and flow, as will your healing path.

Grief is funny like that, how it ebbs and flows from you, it’s not corked like champagne, a bottle that bursts open, fizzes all out until it’s empty. It’s more like a kind of weather. A kind of wind. Sometimes it’s these horrible gusts that you feel undeniably, hurts your ears, makes you close your eyes, chills you right down to your bones, some days it’s a pleasant breeze that blows across your face and it’s neither sad or bad, it’s just some kind of unspeakable tenderness. Some days you feel no breeze, that’s started happening to me—I don’t know how I feel about it yet—not that I don’t think of her, I sort of think I’ll think of her every day for forever, but more that, when I do, it doesn’t necessarily feel like someone’s dropping a crystal vase inside my chest. That’s not to say I don’t still have days where I’m a glassware shop situated somewhere along the San Andreas Fault and there’s an earthquake and things are falling and breaking everywhere, but there was a time where every day felt like the big one California’s waiting for—just total demolition. I suppose it doesn’t feel like total destruction anymore.

The interplay of hope and grief is the current of our human sea. Each ebbs and flows, forming locked waves whose faces meet, one’s apex to the other’s valley, so that a whole is made and it is life.

May you trust the wisdom of these natural rhythms, the ebb and flow that guides your journey. In the moments of light, may you shine with grace, and in the moments of darkness, may you find the quiet strength that sustains you, the assurance that even in the shadow, you are held in the wholeness of your being.

Our circumstances don’t dictate our joy or our sorrow; it is our belief about our circumstances that holds the power. When we open to all aspects of our grief, we begin to allow her ebb and flow.

Like love, grief was boundless, and eternal. It flowed all throughout a body and flooded all the space around it, drowned you again every time you took another breath. Only time would tell how much the tide might ebb, but sure as the sea was ruled by the moon, it would roll back in again. You would be touched by its swash for the rest of your days.

You take each day as it comes. Healing isn’t linear, El. There’ll be days where the lightshine warms your face and others where you barely want to leave bed. But that is still moving forward. Don’t put expectations on yourself.” “You’re very wise, you know.” Enzo winked. “Not just a pretty face, am I? I’ve known much grief in my life, El. You are not alone in this, I promise.” “My mother always told me it was a curse to feel as deeply as I do. I loved her very much, but I think she was only capable of loving me in her own way, rather than as I needed to be.” “People can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.” Elara nodded. “So I locked all these emotions behind a wall. They still bubble around under the surface. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to skim over the surface of life, to never have known pain and sorrow, to not be so attached.” Enzo pulled her away roughly and tilted her chin. “Don’t you ever let anyone tell you that feeling too much is a weakness. Do you know how much strength it takes to feel every ebb and flow of life? To keep your heart open? You treasure it, Elara. There aren’t many who possess such a gift.” Her eyes brightened slightly. “Sometimes it just feels like such a burden.” He looked at her, his eyes so open and trusting that she ached. “Then let me help carry it.

The ebb and flow of waves crashing into you on the days your brain associates with that person. The sting of tears at the back of your eyeballs that force their way out regardless of where you are and what you’re doing. The way those tears taste exactly the same every time they fall. Like heartbreak, devastation, and open wounds that will never heal. That’s the only thing I taste today. The unique flavor of grief sticking to the roof of my mouth and making it impossible for me to speak

The words have forasken us but we continue to write because the brave souls of Gaza continue to bleed. It is as if we are part of an endless funeral procession. The grief comes in waves, it ebbs and flows but mostly it crashes onto our hearts with great force and leaves us breathless. Helpless.

During the early days and weeks of her solitude Frances had come to realise that grief like illness is unstable; it ebbs and flows in tides, it steals away to a distance and then comes roaring back, it torments by deception. It plays games with time and with reality.

Grief was like the great Southern Ocean; it moved in ebbs and flows, often turbulent and rough, or peaceful and settled, and even over time when I could navigate the waters, the tide never stopped.

Having accepted the undercurrent ebb and flow presence of this grief I find myself thinking less and less of this horrific period and person. The ever-consuming dark thoughts of grief (and loss) made way for more coherent thinking and mindful living of being in the moment - focusing on the daily awareness of the here and now... It took time, introspection, reflection and soul searching to finally arrive at the other side of this profound and self-enriching journey.