Grief comes in waves, unpredictable and relentless. One moment, you might feel like you're sitting on solid ground, able to function, even smile. Then, out of left field, a memory, a song, a familiar scent crashes over you, pulling you under. The nature of grief is not linear—it does not follow a straight path of healing. Instead, it ebbs and flows just like the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming. You might think you've made peace with your loss, and then be blindsided by a rigorous wave of sorrow. This unpredictability may make grief feel much more isolating, as if no-one else understands why you're suddenly struggling again. But the truth is, that is normal. Grief is not a thing we “get over”; it becomes an integral 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 any sight of the shore. Every reminder of what was lost feels just like 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 flee the cycle of sadness. As time passes, however, the waves become less frequent. They do not disappear, nevertheless they come with an increase of space in between, allowing moments of light to shine through. You could find yourself laughing again, enjoying small things, even feeling a sense of normalcy. However, just when you think you've found solid ground, another wave hits. This is 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.

Eventually, you learn to navigate the waves, even should they never fully stop. You begin to acknowledge when they're coming, and you develop approaches to brace yourself. Some waves are small, merely a ripple of sadness that passes quickly. Others are overwhelming, knocking you off your feet, forcing you to sit together with your pain all over again. But with time, you realize that you're not drowning anymore. You're learning how exactly to float, how to ride the waves in place of resisting them. The pain continues, but it no more consumes you. You carry your loss differently—never as a weight that drags you down, but as an integral part of you, woven into your life. Healing doesn't mean forgetting; this means learning how to deal with the waves instead of fearing them  grief comes in waves.

And perhaps the main realization is that grief's waves do not merely 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'd on your own life. Although the pain can be sharp, it is proof that love never truly leaves us. The waves can come unexpectedly, and they may bring tears, but they also carry warmth. They remind you that even in loss, there is love. Over time, you find that the waves of grief do not merely pull you under—they also carry you forward, guiding you toward healing in their particular unpredictable way.