I stood right on the shoreline.
One day it’s going to hit me,
this tidal wave.
The pain will knock me off my feet, I will cry and scream and clutch.
But when it finally hits me, that’s when I’ll be able to move on.
I long for that wave to consume me so I can emerge back on the beach, fresh, new.
But months have passed since the earthquake and there is still no tsunami.
Instead, this pain is the small waves lapping at my feet,
touching my toes whilst I’m waiting.
This grief visits in small pulses.
When I notice a place missing at Christmas dinner.
When I have to write important dates in my new calendar and end up questioning whether you can still have a birthday if you no longer exist.
When I am asked to write down my next of kin and remember when it used to be you.
There is no tidal wave. There are just waves. And together they are just as painful.
They engulf me just the same.
– Lydia Hextell