In one blog that I sometimes read, grief was described as trying to go up on an escalator that is perpetually going down. Try as you might, you never quite reach the top. Some days you get higher, some days you are further down than ever before. I like that analogy, but truthfully it doesn't work for me. Perhaps it's because Tatyanna loved escalators and could spend all day running from one to another at various centres of mass commerce and I am reluctant to combine comparisons of grief with bittersweet memories. Or maybe because I'd naively like to think that someday, just maybe I will know what it feels like to be truly happy again. That I will be able to stand at the top, battle scarred and exhausted but finally at peace. I'm not at that place yet, an elusive Golconda that may never exist for me...but I need to believe that it's possible. For the moment, some days are good, some notsomuch. Good, however is a relative term. Good days are much like catching a wave over treacherous waters. You paddle like crazy against the current and when you're finally up, riding the crest, you know that the water below is deep and cold and that one false move could send you into the churning below. You try to enjoy the ride, feel the sun on your face and the exhilaration of the moment but you know that all to quickly, it's over. Before you really have a chance to savour the moment you are deposited on the beach and left staring out at the emptiness beyond, wondering if the fleeting happiness was real at all and if you will have the strenght to paddle back out there to try it all again.
Perhaps that's not the best or even most accurate comparison, afterall, I'm a land locked prairie gal with extremely limited marine experience. What do I know about oceans and waves and all that- but, it works for me.
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