Written by Annabel Skrocki
There’s something magical about the way our bodies come to a complete release of all tensions when we’re in the water. It holds us in a way that is comforting, warm and soft. There’s nothing to fight against, nothing to worry or think about. Your skin gets kissed, sweetly, leaving small tingling bumps in its wake. Water glistens in the sun, exposing the stars of the daytime, twinkling and floating around without care. Its color melts into the ground, making your eyes heavy with sparkle. There’s nothing else quite like it. It has the power to wash away and cleanse you of any hurt, anger, or sadness. And while doing so fills you up with love, clarity, and light.
Grief is nothing like this. Grief reaches into your soul, into the most delicate part of you, and rips it right out. Not caring about the trail of your crushed pieces, it leaves you empty, struggling to breathe, to make sense of the events that just occurred. Grief does not care who you are. It will come in waves, furious and angry. Pulling the tide all the way out, starving the small beings buried in the sand and cracks of the reef. Leaving everything to dry out and wither away in the heat of the sun.
Your perception of everything changes when you lose someone who was a part of you. Things that felt like home no longer give you the same comfort. It’s hard to find your way, to get your grasp and understanding of things in a world that feels dark and empty. It’s all heavy, like your clothes are soaked in a thick coat of mud that’s holding you down, trying to push you further away. Some days the water is more gentle, caressing the nape of your neck with tenderness, holding you just above the surface, not to let you get sucked under. A surge of clarity cleanses you of the thickness, washing it away with the warmth only a mother can provide.
That’s when you can finally take a breath. The first breath in what feels like years. The soft water affectionately lifts you up and wraps you in her waves. She breathes with you, carefully and slowly. Holding you, giving you rest.
I lost my creator, my mom, who also was my best friend. The water, more specifically; Lake Michigan has always been a part of our lives. A place of solace, a place we would go to find joy, love, and deep happiness. Lake Michigan held my mother, made her feel weightless. It gave her support no one and nothing else could. The water carried her gracefully and compassionately, as if it knew what was bound to happen. Now she carries me, holds me, comforts me, and loves me. And I feel my mother through it.
The grief will always be with me. I will always feel its deep intertwined roots in my being. Just as Lake Michigan will always hold me. Letting me rest, flow and breathe. Leaving me weightless as it did so many times for my mother. Washing away the mud, the pain and the hurt, for just enough time to take a breath. This water will continue to fill me up until my last days floating in its arms.
