The tide is going out – the beach is exposed. Crying together and hugging, my brother’s wife and I learned we have each been trying to protect and care for the other. Today we surrendered more clearly to the grief we both feel and share. The tide comes in; the tide goes out, and sometimes it’s gentle and other times fierce, but all is held by the ocean floor and the tender rise of sky.
I’m with this poem of Tennyson’s. The bar is so clear here by the sea and invites the salt of tears, the sweetness of shared grief.
Crossing the Bar
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
And so my brother has, and when I’ve learned enough, so will I.