Beautiful drive home this morning from Georgia. Followed the pristine white clouds and turquoise sky all the way back to Alabama. I’m perched in my porch swing now watching the clouds float by to the melodies of bird songs and wind chimes. Glad to be safely home with lots of wonderful memories filed away.

Watched the sun set tonight with a pint jar of sweet tea in my hand, perched in my favorite swing, watching the lightning bugs and cardinals frolic at dusk. The sun set on the horizon in her golden glory covering herself with a spectacle of clouds in hues of pinks and purples. Missed this evening sunset movie during my trip.

Enjoyed being with my grandchildren so much. Children are so beautiful when they are uninhibited and in love with life. Their spontaneous laughter is so contagious. My granddaughter and I get tickled all the time and I lose my breath. I always say, “Think I need some oxygen!!” That gets us giggling again. Throw in a few Whoopi cushions into the mix and my grandsons get the giggles, too. This trip, the windshield wiper escapade with oldest sister-in-law sent my oldest grandson into a fit of laughter.

On the way home I sometimes shed a few tears for all these memories with the grandchildren I’ve experienced without Chief. I have to believe he can see us and he watches over us. I’m no longer nervous to travel and drive without him. I can feel his presence in the passenger seat where he always navigated our trips with an atlas and a magnifying glass. I saw that magnifying glass on my oldest son’s dresser on this trip and instantly had a wave of grief for all the memories that magnifying glass held. I didn’t pick it up. I just stood there looking at it and remembered his large brown hands, warm and strong, holding the ivory handle.

Grief is really like an ocean wave. There are calm moments where life is going on an even keel and just when you least expect a wave of grief rolls over and almost drowns you. It takes your breath away. It will be three years in January since Chief died and I still deal with the waves. They always pick the most improper time to break over me but if I don’t deal with the waves I lose my breath. I’m in the calm waters now but when a wave breaks I hold out my had to my faith for my rescue. If I didn’t believe I’d be reunited with Rosie and Chief in heaven I could not swim my way to the top of these waves.

I used to read this quote by Joanne Cacciatore every night when I went to bed. Her words somehow soothed me during the months following Chief’s death. “When we love deeply, we mourn deeply: extraordinary grief is an expression of extraordinary love. Grief and love mirror each other; one is not possible without the other.” I really feel this is true.

I think Jimmy Buffett described grief perfectly. He had to have loved deeply and felt that loss deeply to describe grief so perfectly. He writes that waves of grief are big enough to drown us but if we keep moving forward the memories of those we love will shine brightly.

Here are his words. “Grief is like the wake behind a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. But if you do keep moving, the big wake will eventually dissipate. And after a long time, the waters of your life get calm again, and that is when the memories of those who have left begin to shine as bright and as enduring as the stars above.”