Where the Water Isn’t - reflections on grief and the tides

At low tide, you can stand in a place that is usually underwater.

The ocean has pulled back, leaving behind wet sand, shells, tide pools, and the marks of everything the water has touched.

You can stand there and think:

This is where the water usually is.

And somehow, grief can feel like that.

You can be standing on completely dry ground and still feel like you’re drowning.

No water over your head.

No waves pulling you under.

Nothing anyone else can see.

And yet, inside, you’re struggling to breathe.

But there is another kind of knowing that can come from standing there.

You realize you are still standing.

You can tolerate the feeling.

You can stay.

You can notice the beauty in the place where the water used to be.

And then, eventually, the tide comes back.

High tide.

The same place that felt empty is now full.

The water covers what was exposed. The waves return. Everything looks different again.

And maybe this is one of the strange, beautiful truths about grief:

We can drown on dry land.

We can stand in deep water and discover we are stronger than we knew.

We can experience profound sorrow and still notice beauty.

We can laugh while carrying loss.

We can feel joy without betraying the person we miss.

Grief and joy aren’t opposites.

They are more like the tide.

Coming in.

Going out.

Changing the landscape.

Neither one makes the other less true.

And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply stand where we are—

whether the water is over our heads,

or the tide has pulled all the way back—

and discover that we are still here.

Andrea Sugar

Grief Coach & End-of-Life Doula