There must be something strangely sacred about salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.Kahlil Gibran

Those of us who’ve suffered one or more devastating losses often describe grief as being like the ocean with pain and longing breaking over us in waves. At times, the sadness is overwhelming, and we feel as though we’re drowning. But over time, we learn to float, to keep our head above water. We begin to recognize when the big waves are coming and become better able to deal with them. Although we never escape the sadness, we learn to navigate the waters of grief and move forward into the life we create in the wake of our loss.

a panoramic photo of Pismo Beach at sunset

During my darkest days, I found that the wisdom and experience of other grievers helped me to re-enter the world. They showed me that life after the death of a beloved was possible, that I could begin to see beauty, find grace and feel hope, even joy. They helped me realize that love was all around me, and all I had to do was lean in.

At Salt Water, our community can help you find your equilibrium and begin to heal after an unbearable loss. As Barbara Kingsolver put it so beautifully in High Tide in Tucson:

What a stroke of luck. What a singular brute feat of outrageous fortune: to be born into citizenship in the animal kingdom. We love and we lose, go back to the start and do it right over again. For every heavy forebrain solemnly cataloguing the facts of a harsh landscape, there’s a rush of intuition behind it crying out: High tide! Time to move out into the glorious debris. Time to take this life for what it is.

We invite you to become part of our community. Share your story, ask a question, make a comment. We’d love to hear from you.

Never miss an article or podcast! Subscribe here to be notified whenever new content is posted to Salt Water.

Blue violet winter sky with stars in it. Two trees appear in dark silhouette in front.

The Sweetness Of Starlight

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars. Og Mandino

Navigating Grief at Christmas

In June 2020 my dad died, and I was thrown into a world that felt so upside down and unfamiliar. The first year was a year of firsts, father’s day weeks after his death shortly followed by his birthday, my parents wedding anniversary my birthday and then of course Christmas and New Year.

Mari, Willie and Shelby with Margo at Jimmy's celebration of life. Mari is wearing a yellow t-shirt and black sweater. Willie is wearing a Stanford hoodie with a block S and tree on the front. Margo is wearing a coral shirt and tan sweater. Shelby is wearing a black and white scarf and black coat

Stand By Me

The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for. Bob Marley

Single yellow leaf on the ground with water behind it and purple reflection in the water

Mono No Aware

All through autumn we hear a double voice: one that says everything is ripe; the other says everything is dying. Greta Erlich


Scared is what you’re feeling. Brave is what you’re doing. Emma Donoghue

Jan's friend Georgann and Jan's cat Diego, an orange and white tabby laying on a beige couch together. Georgann has short dark hair and is wearing glasses


I can’t remember when my late best friend started telling me this, but I do know that she mentioned it fairly often throughout the 17 years that she coped with metastasized colon cancer. “I have a grateful heart,” Georgann would say.

error: Our content is protected.