Yikes. I miss my little boy so very much. They say grief comes in waves and often when you least expect it. They're not kidding. Years ago we were on a family trip to the beach. My hubby was out in the surf and I was on the shore with kiddos. He turned to us and waved. In that instance a massive wave appeared behind him of which he was blissfully unaware. I tried to signal him to turn around and brace for it to no avail. BAM! He was quite literally wiped out. Gone were his expensive prescription sunglasses. Gone was his breath for an interval. Heck, he was altogether gone for a moment churned about under the surf, unable to right himself right away, left essentially to just let go and ride it out. Soon enough he popped up and spluttered but was otherwise fine. To carry on. He made it back to solid ground and rested for awhile. Life went on. See the analogy? My ache hits out of the clear blue. Fixing breakfast. Making the bed. Doing school. In the middle of a snuggle fest with my Jasper, the most amazing gift. It knocks me down. And out. It takes my breath away. It renders me pretty weak. Disconnects me from the swirling, twirling world around me for a time. In that space I can struggle, wrestle with it to try and send the pain away. But like my man in the tossing waves, it's best to just let go and ride it out. Soon enough I'm back on solid ground. Panting a bit perhaps. Tossed and spit out. And life goes on.