When I Wake Up.

It was like getting hit with a wave.

Maybe you know the feeling: one minute, you’re skipping through the sea, and the next, you’re somersaulting in confusion, not knowing which way is up and which way is down.

Except for me, I couldn’t tell if I was alive, or if I was… not.

I was taking a nap, see, as most of my afternoons go.

In the winter, Alaska has this annoying habit of setting her suns spectacularly early, about 4pm on this particular day.

So though I fell asleep with the light of the sun’s rays still kissing the layer of snow outside my window, I opened my eyes to just the opposite.

Waking from a nightmare, and those sick feelings of whatever horrors I had battled during my nap still lingering in my chest, I awoke to the sheer terror of not knowing if I was alive.

All I saw was blackness. Nothingness. An empty void.

I was terrified. Paralyzed.

It was then that I was hit with this wave, this overwhelming fear that somewhere during my nap, I had passed on.

Heart racing in horror, I rocked back in forth in my bed with tears streaming down my face.

As the minutes passed, and as time convinced me that I was here: alive, well, and safe, I started to calm down.

Well I’ll tell you one thing: I won’t be sleeping through Alaskan winters without a night light from now on.

Going through that all too real fear rattled me pretty bad, I’ll be honest. Suffering from the natural side effects of grief, and battling through losing someone so close to my family, I was shaken to my core as I realized just how damn precious life is.

During the course of one nap, I was hit with this reality that we are not guaranteed tomorrow.

That fear stuck with me a few days, that fear of dying. I think being confronted with that reality, even through a paralyzing nightmare, does something to you.

And you know me, I let it consume me for days.

But then, I listened to a meditation on grief. And it kind of changed my perspective.

Life is balance, we all know that. With light, there is darkness. With joy, there is sorrow. With life, there is death, and as we grow, we lose many things we love. We’ll lose our loved ones, those who created us. We’ll likely lose friendships, pets, homes, and even precious belongings stolen out of the back of our cars in famous San Francisco smash and grabs. We will probably lose our hopes, our dreams, and at some point, we’ll lose ourselves too.

It’s inevitable. It’s guaranteed.

So how do we get through it? How do I move forward from this fear of one day dying, disappearing, ceasing to exist?

While it would be easier to perseverate over this nightmare, I am also reminded that life is short. And death and grief, though agonizing and painful, all stem from a place of love.

What this meditation taught me is that every grief starts from loving something, someone. Grief is a signal that we loved, or were loved greatly. And though the pain of that absence feels like the only thing I can see or feel at times, I also know that it will go.

But that love? That stays forever.

And that brings me peace.

Reminds me of a Winnie the Pooh quote, actually:

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

So though this wave knocked me off my feet and sent me for a loop de loop, I did come out okay in the other side (and alive). A little rattled, sure, but with an even greater appreciation for being awake to witness this magnificent life.