The Waves Keep Coming

The first year, the waves were constant.

Relentless. One after another. You couldn’t catch your breath before the next one hit.

Every day was a wave. Every holiday. Every birthday. Every milestone. Every first without them.

The grief was everywhere. In everything. You were drowning in it.

People told you it would get easier. That the waves would slow down. That eventually you’d find solid ground.

And in some ways, they were right.

The second year, the waves changed.

They weren’t constant anymore. There were breaks. Moments where you could breathe. Days where the grief wasn’t the loudest thing in your head.

But when the waves came, they still hit hard. Different, maybe. But just as devastating.

Because now you weren’t just grieving the loss. You were grieving all the time that had passed without them. All the things they’d missed. All the ways life had moved forward and left them behind.

The third year. The fourth. The fifth.

The waves keep changing.

They’re less frequent now. You can go days, sometimes weeks, without being knocked down by grief.

But they still come.

A song. A smell. A random memory.

And suddenly you’re right back in it.

In the beginning, they’re tsunamis. Massive. Destructive. Impossible to survive.

And the thing no one tells you is that the waves never stop coming.

Not after a year. Not after five years. Not after ten.

They just become part of the landscape. Part of your life. Part of who you are now.

You learn to see them coming. You brace yourself. You ride them out.

Some days you handle them well. Some days they knock you flat.

But you survive them. Every single time.

Because that’s what you do. You survive the waves. Over and over and over.

And eventually, you realize something:

The waves aren’t the enemy. They’re proof.

Proof that you loved them. Proof that what you had was real and deep and worth this pain.

The waves are grief. But they’re also love.

And as long as you love them, the waves will keep coming.

Not to destroy you. But to remind you.

That they were here. That they changed you. That they’re still with you in the way you carry them forward.

So, the waves keep coming. Year after year.

Different now. But still there.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because the alternative—no waves at all—would mean they’re truly gone. And they’re not. Not as long as you feel this.

So, you let the waves come. You ride them out. You keep going.

One wave at a time. One year at a time.

For the rest of your life.