The closest I have come to drowning was a day when we were surfing the south side of Margaret River. It was 4-6ft, onshore and messy, then out of the blue came this sneaker set that must have been 8ft and caught us all inside. It took me down several times and I lost my bearings for a while, until I finished up just washing across the reef and eventually catching my breath and limping in. This week Phil suggested to me that grief is like copping a sneaker set on the head. So this poem kinda taps into that experience.

Grief is a 3 wave hold down.

You can never know for sure

When the demon

Will strike

So you relax, laugh, chat

Let your guard slip

But then… 

The moment…

The entire horizon seems to rise

And obscure the sky

You realise 

It is NOW

And there is nothing you can do

—

Winding in from the deep

The first monster unleashes its fury 

You were not ready

So desperate paddles simply draw you

Closer into its jaws

Where you are devoured

Pummelled mercilessly

Death-rolled by vice like jaws

You flounder breathlessly

Stunned at the ferocity of its impact 

Raw adrenalin pushes you to surface 

To draw a single gasping breath

—

Only to see a second towering wall of water

Detonate in front of you

Rag-dolling your already jelly limbs

Plunging you once more to the depths

Where it shakes you in its teeth like an angry dog

Until you pray it will be over

Please let it end…

Any sense of hope has been pressed 

From your lungs

Your limp body drifts upwards

Panicky and breathless

Before one brief moment of respite 

Lets you grasp one shallow 

Mouthful of air

—

Your salty eyes strain

Only to see

A third wave

Bigger again by far

Now marching in with murderous intent

It mows you down

Locks you in its jaws and

Pins you to the reef 

Until you feel that maybe 

Your own time has come

The ocean has won

You are it’s prey 

There is no fight left in you

Then – at the very moment 

You surrender

It releases its grip

And you drift to the surface

Fizzy headed

Gasping and heaving

—

This time the horizon is clear 

The churn of frothy, sandy water

Attests to what has been

Another mauling you have survived

So you gather yourself

Paddle back out and carry on

Until the next time 

It sneaks up on you

Catches you off guard

(Because there will be a next time

Many next times)

Where sorrow over-whelms

Where your own death may even appear

More attractive than life

Where it is only those involuntary 

Reflexes that push you on

That remind you 

Life is to be loved

Shared and treasured

To be paddled into every day

Whatever shape that takes