Up From Below

Suddenly, a wave takes you. You’re ten feet under. Your horizons and surroundings have disappeared; you are underneath it all, alone.

You have to find the bottom. You stretch your leg down, down, down into the depths, until the ball of your foot connects with something solid.

You find a truth of what has happened, and think of the most challenging pieces you can find: He is gone. You will not see him again. This is permanent. No new memories. This is done. There is nothing below this. You’ve touched the bottom. You accept it, as hard as you can.

Now that you’ve found your footing, you can extend your leg, pushing up from this idea, kicking up from below, and rise back up to the now-calming surface, to catch one more breath.