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.
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.
Grief Is Like Facing A Blank Canvas
Grief in the early days is like facing a blank canvas. You likely had a beautiful painting in mind when it came to your life with your loved ones. In an instant, it was erased, leaving you facing the blankness of living life without them, devastated and beyond scared.
Teaching Our Children To Grieve
In A Life Short and Loud, Kevin Luby shares the joy and pain of raising a son whose remarkable life was cut much too short. Kevin also writes openly and honestly about the collateral damage inflicted by a devastating loss — the stress on a marriage, the pain of watching your surviving child suffer, the friends who avoid you, the holidays that are forever changed and the challenge of building a new life in the aftermath.
Dancing With Grief
I began my relationship with overwhelming grief and loss on December 3, 2015, the day my 33-year-old son, Kyle, died in a car accident. My world came crashing down when my son’s heart gave up a 40-minute battle to continue beating as his lifeless body was lifted into the Life Flight helicopter on California’s Ventura […]
Our Short, Sweet Lives
It’s life, Sidda. You don’t figure it out. You just climb on the beast and ride. Rebecca Wells, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood
My Daughter’s Love Carried Me Through
When my twelve-year-old daughter Hannah died, I wasn’t sure that I would survive. She was our youngest child, our only daughter, and we were extremely close. When Hannah was diagnosed with high-risk brain cancer at age nine, I had an intuition that I would lose her.
You Did Nothing Wrong
My son, Ron Finch Jr. or Little Ron, passed away on August 22, 2000. He was 11 days old. Little Ron was our only son and the youngest of our four children.
Sign Up for the Latest News
Featured Post in Sweat
Featured Post in Tears
Featured Post in Sea
