Ebb and Flow

The hardest thing I think I've learned about grief is that it's not a straight line.
It falls back and springs forward with no regard to the passing of time.

It's completely without form or reason.

Sometimes it's a soft breeze that blows when I come across an old photo. And sometimes it's a gale force wind that takes me by surprise, when I'm lying in bed at night and out of nowhere I remember my last phone conversation with her.  Crystal clear is her gravelly chuckle and the exhaustion in her voice. And suddenly I can't breathe for the pain that's in my throat.

I have to lie perfectly still and wait for the ebb.

I miss you so desperately today, Grammie.
I'm terrified I'm going to forget what it felt like to hug you, or the smell of your perfume.

I just wish the strength of memory outweighed the strength of grief.