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.

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Dear Jack

How is it possible that five years have passed since I held you in my arms as your heart sounded its final beat? How is it possible that my heart has continued to beat the last 1,825 days? Time feels so different since you died. Yes, years come and go and can be counted, but time feels oddly stationary. As if it’s incomprehensible that life could continue on without you.

Brick wall with a light green faded old fashioned mailbox on the right side of the photo

Proof

Every year on his death day I send an email to his old address: troutbum@… at what? This year it has disappeared like his voice, his touch, his scent on two flannel shirt hanging shoulderless in my closet.

photo of the squares of a quilt. Each square has a dozen stripes of color widening out from the same area of the square.

Ars Poetica: Starting Over

I have forgotten how to choose fabric by the feel of the drape, how to tell by touch what will fall into folds under its own weight.

Heart cut out in wood painted light green

See Me

Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation. Rumi

Card with sunflower on it with blue sky in the background sitting on yellow envelope with the flap open

“Depression Can’t Have You Because You’re Ours”

Nothing good happens in isolation. Only bad and terrible things are born there.

Old baseball glove laying on concrete path with a yellow baseball with red seam in the glove

Catcher

In life, he was a pitcher—his dad, the Little League coach, commanded him to throw a hundred balls at night for practice, wearing out his arm, eventually giving up the game altogether.

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