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Writer's pictureSarah Tedeschi

I Drown

Swimming in the pain. Emotional pain, I would say, is an interesting feeling because it can lead to many different reactions. Most people run from it the best they can, but when you’re in the type of situation I am in, it’s impossible to escape. Pain elicits many behaviors and causes unnatural feelings. It crushes you. It shrinks you. And it wrings you out. Sometimes it’s like a large bolder squishing you and sometimes it makes you feel like a towel being tightly twisted. It empties every part of you.


Pain has become my norm. In grief, it’s like an ocean. It can come in regular waves or it can just tsunami hit you for however long it wants. When that tsunami hits, you are usually on the ground, drowning and gasping for air, praying for God to throw out his life saver. And he does. And you grab on and float right where you’re at. Because you’re no longer drowning, you just learn to float in the pain. And that’s what I do every day: I float in the pain. And it’s not that I have become comfortable with it (which is extremely possible) it is that I have become familiar with it. Tsunami waves don’t worry me anymore because they will hit regardless and during that time I will cry out. And I’ve found that Jesus will be there, again and again.


I am sure, down the line, less waves will hit and the ocean will become knee or ankle deep. However, I don’t suspect the fullness of the pain will ever subside. There is no antidote for the pain that comes with death. And so, the pain will always be there. But so will God. God is the lifeguard in my ocean of grief and pain.

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