I Ache for the Hurricane

September 19, 2025

I thought the grief of losing my lived reality would knock me down like a wave,

then pass.

But this grief is like Southeast Alaskan weather on steroids.

Unrelenting.

Unpredictable.

Merciless.

At first, it was constant.

A continuous storm.

Like Ketchikan in October,

hurricane force winds, sideways rain,

low clouds pressing into my chest.

Darkness that came too soon

and stayed too long.

I desperately prayed for the storms to end.

Never thinking I would miss them when they were gone.

There were breaks,

small ones,

moments when the sky lightened

and I thought maybe the worst was over.

But then the wind and rain would rage again,

and I’d remember

the storm wasn’t finished with me yet.

I lived like that for months.

Each storm tearing through different memories.

Ripping open new wounds.

It took everything I had

to hold my center

while the flood tried to claim me.

And then,

quietly, almost cruelly,

it shifted.

The storms softened.

The air grew still.

I’d expect the next hurricane,

but it wouldn’t come.

Not like before.

The days became simply gray,

persistent drizzle,

a chill that seeped into my bones,

a damp quiet that didn’t demand my full collapse

but wouldn’t let me be safe and warm.

And then, one day, there was sunshine.

Brief.

Unbelievable.

Holy.

And then,

the rain again.

But now the seasons have changed.

I’m no longer in the raw agony of October.

I’m in the early days of spring.

Life is sprouting, unexpected, tender, real.

Energy is returning.

Belief is beginning to bud.

Joy catches me off guard in the middle of nothing special.

But the grief isn’t gone.

Some days still bring snow.

Cold mornings. Sudden downpours.

And I let them come.

Because here’s the truth,

I hated the storms.

Deeply.

They stripped me bare.

Left me gasping.

Made a home of chaos in my chest.

But now,

I ache for their feeling.

I miss the knowing that what I experienced meant something deeply.

I crave the emotional bleeding.

I miss the fight I had to make every day.

It gave me purpose.

It gave me power.

It changed me.

Like arriving at the summit of a mountain I didn’t think I’d survive.

Even as the sun warms my skin

and the garden begins to grow again,

I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to the storm.

Not because I want to return to it.

But because it mattered.

Because I mattered inside it.

This is what living on feels like.

A strange mix of blooming and ache.

Of letting go, and still hoping.

Of missing the rain,

even as I step fully into the sunshine

knowing I am safe,

warm,

and loved.

By me.

Fully.