Waves of Sadness

They say that grief is like a wave

at times you are at its peak

and can see the light far out on the horizon…

and then

you are in the dark belly

of that same wave

strong undertow

and all you can see

is the impending wall of loneliness

that threatens to drown you

Searching for an anchor for my tiny boat

My tiny little aching heart

wondering how far away

are the safe shores

where I can lay down and rest

For I feel deeply the rise and fall

of every oceanic crest

and I am much too tired to swim

Anji Kat (c) 2022

I wrote this poem after experiencing several losses almost 2 years ago, one right after the other: first, my dear Kendra, a former yoga student of mine and mentee, who went on to become a wildly successful yoga studio owner and had a huge impact on the entire community. She had been battling cancer for several years and since she had beaten it once, I thought for certain she would beat it again. But I came home after a trip to find that she had passed, but true to her spirit, she was compassionate, courageous, and unafraid right until her last breath. She doesn’t know this, but she was the woman I had always aspired to be.

Then came my grandfather Glenn, my last living grandfather and the one I had closest relationship to. He and I shared a love of music, as he was a self-taught drummer since the age of 13 and played for nearly 50 years. He gave me my love of jazz and swing and was my hugest fan when I released my own music CD’s. He lived to be the ripe old age of 96, and I live with the regret that I became “too busy” to make time and see him more regularly. He still comes to visit me from time to time as a strutting dove hanging out on my deck.

And for the final blow, just 5 days later, my beloved 18.5-year-old cat Toby. After his brother passed in 2017 around Christmas, it was just Toby in the house. He was my constant source of comfort, had seen me through very challenging and abusive relationships. He had second degree kidney disease and had been through a lot, but the bond that I had with him was like no other cat I’ve had before or since. He was my Anam Cara, my “soul friend”, and when he finally let me know he was ready to go, I was gutted and utterly devastated.

I don’t remember the entire month of that January, as I was awash with grief. Though I had lost family members prior, for some reason it didn’t hit home like these losses did. Perhaps it was because they lived far away and I didn’t have very close relationships with them, or perhaps I was living in my soft little bubble of spiritually by-passed bliss. It doesn’t really matter, all I know is that I was floundering in the deep end with it. At times I felt like I was drowning, other times I felt like I was gently floating and learning to swim with it.

What I find is most interesting, when I rediscover this poem, and reminisce, is that grief is an emotion that is ever-present, just like all the other emotions. I just had never given it any time and space to tell me what it wanted me to know.

It wanted me to know that feeling is a gift. Feeling ALL of it is a gift. Grief showed me how to slow down and really truly be tender with myself, which led to more tenderness with others. It told me what was truly important in my life, that I did NOT have to “push through it”, and that I was loved as deeply as I loved them, perhaps even more than I could fathom. This is such a powerful reminder (if I can manage to remember it) especially since I lost another very dear friend last Thanksgiving - and the sobering truth is: as I continue to get older, this will continue to happen with more regularity.

I guess it’s time for surfing lessons.

I still miss them all fiercely, and always will, even as time marches forward, ever faster, begging me to remember that they are always with me in Spirit. I endeavor to honor them by honoring their love AND my sorrow, to be kind to myself, talk to them regularly, and give myself some grace.

Ride the wave.