
Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.
— Vicki Harrison
Croning My Way Through Life

Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.
— Vicki Harrison
A beautiful repost for a Friday from Boundless Blessings by Kamal — it touches so many of us in so many different ways.
Time the greatest Healer…………
Time is said to the greatest healer
Though, it’s difficult to comprehend
You wonder, when grief or loss is felt
How your heart will ever mend.
It’s a subtle transition, over years
It isn’t apparent from day to day
In fact at times you start to wonder
How you will ever find your way
But when you look back over time
You realise your heart is stronger
And although you may never fully heal
You’re not struggling any longer
You come to realise that you’ve changed
And won’t ever be the same again
But you embrace the faith you found right now
Whilst coping with the hurt and pain
Love will come just in time
With happiness and joy waiting to come
Fresh smiles and laughter will fill you
And you will again be the lovely person you were
And, eventually time teaches us how to cope
Just how strong we really are
And although the journey was long
We feel proud we made it so far……………………………
A summer’s night
Songs cloud the crisp air of night
Ringing voices singe the tips of the trees
And fall gently to the earth
Only to be absorbed and heard from no more.
I scream violently through the crevices of my mind
What is wrong — why do I torture myself as I do?
Love has vanished
Evaporated into the depths of time.
Give up your useless crusade,
Abandon your ballet shoes, your tiara
Your nylon stocking.
Come back to where thoughts linger
In their own poverty-stricken holes.
Cast your eyes upon the dawn
Watch as shivering beams of sunlight
Illuminate the corners of the night.
Do not cry in remorse or self pity
At the ragged state of things.
Dry your tears, put on your blue jeans
And pick up your shattered dreams.
April 1977