There was a day—I don't even remember how long after—when the wave hit.
I was doing something completely ordinary. Something mundane.
And the wave came crashing down.
Not gently.
Not gradually.
Like a tsunami that came out of nowhere and knocked me off my feet.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't stand.
I couldn't do anything but let it pull me under.
They're gone.
Actually gone.
Not coming back. Ever.
I'd been living with that truth.
But on this day, the wave just came. And it destroyed me.
I couldn't fight it.
I couldn't push through it.
All I could do was let it take me.
People talk about grief coming in waves.
And it does.
But nobody tells you about the waves that come out of nowhere weeks, months or years later.
The ones that hit when you think you're starting to find your footing again.
This wave showed me I'd never really had my footing at all.
I was just standing in shallow water, and this pulled me straight into the deep end.
I don't know what triggered it.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe the wave was always coming, and I just didn't see it.
Maybe something small reminded me. Maybe my brain finally let itself feel what had been building.
All I know is the wave hit.
And I went under.
And for a while, I didn't know if I'd come back up.
Eventually, I did.
The wave passed.
I caught my breath.
I stood back up.
But I know now: the waves don't stop.
They just keep coming.
Some days they're small.
Manageable.
I can see them coming and brace myself.
Other days they're like that day.
Out of nowhere.
Massive.
Unstoppable.
And all I can do is let them hit.
Let them pull me under.
And hope I surface on the other side.
That's what I learned the day the wave hit.
Grief isn't just one moment.
It's wave after wave.
Some you see coming.
Some you don't.
All of them relentless.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
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The wave that comes out of nowhere, just when you think you're finding your footing, is about as real as it gets. I think it's one of the things that makes grief so damn hard. Even when it passes, you know it's going to happen again. It's just a matter of when. Since losing my daughter Chloe at nineteen I've come to think of grief as a tsunami. Just as the water draining out into the ocean is a warning, I often feel days of stress and anxiety before the grief crashes over me. I love that you named how standing in shallow water can fool you into thinking you've got your footing. Thank you for writing this, Aimee. ❤️