My second mom recently shared an interview with me in which an author, Michelle Zauner described remembering her mother as, “colliding with a wall that won’t give.” The impenetrable sense of her grief is tangible to me, but the singularity of the metaphor, that you collide and then fall or break or heal or move in a different direction is not how my own experience goes.

Memories of my mother come in waves. Many times, I can feel their approach, as predictable as the phases of the moon, and the tides ebb and flow in ways I can manage regardless of circumstance. But there are still times, nearly thirty years after her passing that the waves come unexpectedly, a tsunami of emotion that I all but drown in.

I partially hosted a bridal shower yesterday for my niece. Memories of my mother were prevalent, many were in fact invited in -using her recipes, her dishes, even her wedding gown hanging on display – there was no avoiding her presence. Even in the unexpected moments of reminiscence – moments in the grocery store when I was overwhelmed by decisions and I wished for her guidance, or thinking ahead to the event and wishing she could have lived to not only meet her granddaughter but to see her get married – even in those moments, I was mostly prepared. These memories, these heartbreaks have familiar ruts in my heart, they have traversed these paths before and I can, with effort, manage their power.

But moments before the shower, idling waiting for the church doors to unlock, I absentmindedly reached for lotion in my purse. Sitting alone in my car it was only seconds before the wave hit. For thirty years I had avoided buying her brand of lotion. It was a scent far too familiar. She would put lotion on during church, inevitably or perhaps purposefully putting too much in her palm and so always sharing it with us girls by rubbing our hands in hers. And yet, here I was, having inadvertently purchased Jergens lotion, it was as if she were seated next to me. It took many long moments to rein in the tide and gather myself together.

These memories and even the emotions they trigger are not unique to me, but they affect me in different ways for every different moment. I held it together, did my part in hosting the shower and held the flood of emotions at bay.

But at 2am the dam broke. I woke in sobs, unable to stop the flood. All my walls had eroded away and the waves came crashing, crashing and I realize, maybe for the first time that it isn’t the memory of her that causes such intense emotion, it is the absolute, unchanging void of her – the absence of her is the jagged knife. And lying there, I miss my mother so deeply, so acutely that I cannot catch my breath. The pain of loss is tremendous and wretched and perhaps the most unavoidable consequence to a life well-lived, as it’s only by loving deeply that we grieve so deeply.

It’s easy to underestimate the power of memory and of grief. From the safety of shore, we can’t often see the size of the wave or the speed of the approach. But I know it can strip me bare in mere seconds. It can leave me gasping for air and flailing to stay afloat. All of my defenses are eroded away and when it finally does recede, I am bereft, shattered and broken.

I am not stronger because I weathered this storm once again. I am stronger only because the storm lives inside me all the time and I have yet to let it consume me.