In this grief, I feel like I am at the edge of the ocean – not the calm white sand warm beaches in the pictures of Bermuda. This ocean is dark and undulating. Its beach is full of rough rocks and dark caves. The waves come in and most of the time I just sit here waiting for the tide to turn – waiting to dry. My whole body cries. But sometimes the waves are actually scary. I run for higher ground. I search for a loving memory to buoy me. I hold on tight. I close my eyes and pray that my feet might stand and the saltwater doesn’t burn my sinuses. I wait to see if I am strong enough. And I am but I am also tired and I miss my mother, my rock in every other set of waves but these, an irony beyond comprehension. A truth only God can carry me through.