I dipped my toe into the waters of grief 8 years ago when Mom’s dementia took hold. I rolled up my pant legs and waded, allowing the sand to squish between my toes. Soon I was waist deep. With every loss of function Mom experienced, I went deeper in. Before long, I was up to my chest, then my shoulders. My head stayed above water, just barely. When she passed I tried to make my way back to shore, but unbeknownst to me, the sand under my feet had shifted.

One step and I was over my head. The bottom dropped out from under me when Dad suddenly passed and I was treading for my life. My goal…one breath at a time. Push my head up for each gasp of air. Without Dad, it was more difficult than I had imagined to swim…to even breathe. Grief tried to pull me under after each inhale. It has taken me almost one year to make my way back to the sandy bottom. My feet just barely touching on some days, and not at all on others.

Last week, a violent storm came with the death of my brother Michael and washed away any stability I had found. The waves pushed me in every direction. The current pulled my feet from under me. This grief is profoundly different from the last two. It is volatile. It is a hurricane that forces me to gasp, dragging water into my lungs. It is tumultuous. Like being inside of a washing machine, churning around and around.

There is the usual sadness after loss. However, in addition to sorrow, there is anger that has built up over years of frustration. Begging him to get help. Pleading for him to come back to us. There is bitterness and resentment that it came to this…this terrible end, not only for my brother but for all of the rest of us. There is regret that I was unable to make a difference. That nothing I said or did, that any of us said or did, could break him free from his addiction. Then back to deep deep sorrow that it is over and the outcome wasn’t what we wanted…needed…to have our family intact. Relief. That he is free. That I am, too. Guilt for feeling relief. Back to sorrow for it all. A cacophony of feelings clamoring in my ears.

Now, the focus on the man we knew, who cared and loved. The man who wanted the best for all of us even when he couldn’t find it for himself. His attempts to surrender himself which failed over and over again whenever he picked the drink back up. The shame he felt that he couldn’t bring this disease under control. I have to separate the two. The man vs. the disease.

I didn’t want the disease to win. I am angry at all that it stole from me. At what could have been. This disease that demands all the attention for itself. Now, I choose to put it to rest. Not to allow it to take any more from me. I instead, push up from the bottom, through the turbulent waters, and I break free. To the surface. I gulp the air. I tread, kicking at the water, using it to keep my head above waves. I name the emotions swirling around me. I acknowledge them, but I do not allow them to identify me.

I grieve. This different kind of grief is messy. Not born out of pure love, but a mixture of hurt and injuries. Scars and open wounds. Frustration and forgiveness in equal measure. Walking wounded. Desire for hope mixed with total hopelessness. Attempts to control the outcome, then helplessness because I couldn’t. Exhaustion from the constant concern and the addiction roller coaster. Decades of grieving the pain of loss while he was alive. And now, the end of the story we all knew was coming while we prayed for it not to. The love I still had for him despite the hurt. The good memories that will live on. There are many good memories. They are the ones I need…to carry me out of this sea. They are my life raft.

Being in this ocean for 8 years has exhausted me beyond what I could imagine. How to get to shore? I swim. I pull forward towards the sand. I take in water, I expel air. I stop. I tread. I float. I attempt to put my feet down to steady me. Always looking towards the land. Waiting for the waves to comfort me instead of drown me. Trying to build a life raft, one memory at a time, plank upon plank even while I am trying to survive. Waiting to be washed up on the beach and warmed by the sun. It is a new day…if I can just get to shore.