Navigating the waves
Have you ever gone to a beach vacation only to be disappointed by the weather? I recently returned from a week-long beach vacation where I was only able to get in the ocean for about half an hour. The reason: storms. For those that don’t know, most beaches use a flag system to notify the public about water safety. Green flag means calm, yellow is low risk, red is high risk (strong waves and currents), and double red flags means beach is closed. Every day, except for the last day, there were double red flags flying over the sand. You may think, what does a beach vacation have to do with grief? Bear with me; I’m getting there.
The day we arrived, I took my son down to the beach for his first experience of the ocean. The waves were on the larger side, so I did not allow him to go more than just getting his feet wet. But the day was beautiful: sunny skies, nice breeze, and comfortable temperature. However, that night, a storm hit. I walked the beach the next morning and found a very different scene than the night before. Instead of a mostly-clear and smooth beach, I found the sand covered with seaweed and debris. Instead of a smooth angle into the ocean, the sand was cut into cliffs and ledges. The storm had changed the landscape. Due to the changes, some areas were more difficult to walk through than they had been the previous day. And flying over the shifted sand was two red flags.
It struck me as I carefully navigated around the cliffs and debris how similar this felt to navigating life after I lost my husband. What had once been a comfortable life with a new home, a new baby, and happy marriage was now treacherous and difficult to manage. Overnight (quite literally in my case) a storm had changed the landscape of my life. What seemed easy and peaceful before was now more difficult than I could have ever imagined. Over time, I learned how to navigate my new landscape and much like my beach vacation, I returned to relatively normal activities.
The next few days of vacation were spotted with rain, but between the storms, we could play on the beach and search the sand for seashells. However, the two red flags remained. We dared to walk in the sand at the edge of the waves again and my son had fun splashing in the inch or less deep water. We were able to have fun and find joy despite the two red flags. But that was not the case for everyone. There were some who ignored the warning of the flags and entered the ocean anyway. This turned potentially deadly for one individual who was caught in a rip current. For those who don’t know, a rip current is a water current that is close to shore and flows quickly toward open ocean. These currents are strong enough to kill around 100 people a year. In this instance, the individual was rescued by the lifeguards (thankfully). Those who are familiar with the ocean can sometimes spot them from the shore, but rip currents are one of the reasons for the flag system. This individual entered the water under a double red flag warning, and it could have potentially cost their life.
In our grief, we can all get caught in unexpected rip currents. If we view our grief like the beach, the dry sand is the safe and comfortable area. It is where we can retreat to calm down, relax, and eventually enjoy life again. The open ocean is the deepest and darkest part of grief; the part that can swallow you and make you feel like you are drowning. The waves and surf are the in-between. It is the areas that have potential to cause injury or pain. If you turn your back on the ocean, a wave can hit the wrong way, knocking you over pretty easily. Newcomers to the beach are unable to spot the dangerous currents and tricky waves in the ocean. Similarly, those newer to their grief are likely unaware of their potentially dangerous places or moments. It may be a certain event or day. Or possibly something as simple as a song or movie can pull you into the open ocean of your grief. Like the person caught in a rip on the beach, have a few people you can call on if you get caught in a rip current of grief. Who are (or can be) your lifeguards?
As we grow through our grief we can learn more about how grief looks and feels for us. Like someone who spends much of their time on the beach becomes very familiar with the ocean, someone who spends time healing and learning from their grief becomes familiar with it. As we mature in grief, we learn how to spot those currents and potentially dangerous places. Like the flag system, we can warn ourselves and others to navigate carefully in those areas, or avoid them altogether if you are becoming overwhelmed by your grief storm. Put your double red flags in the places you don’t want or can’t handle yet. Put up the single red flag in the places needing caution and yellow or green flags in the places you feel more comfortable. Remember that others are like the newcomers on the beach; they don’t know your ocean. They will need flags if you want them and you to stay away from the dangerous or painful areas.
Also, learn to spot your own grief currents, and have a plan of how to get out of one if you need. On my last day of vacation, I entered the water for a short time under a single red flag, but it was exhausting. I am a decent swimmer, but the waves were large and strong. I was getting tired quickly, so I made my way out of the water. Sometimes it is as easy as leaving a situation or putting away those photos for awhile. Other times, you may need to call on your lifeguards for help.
On the morning we were leaving, I looked out over the beach. The waves were calmer and the sun was shining again. Likewise, as time goes on and you begin to heal, your ocean will calm too. The waves will never fully disappear, but you will learn how to navigate them, create your own flag system, and enjoy the beach again.
