I am drowning!
No, not literally; not like when I was five years old. I was on holiday in Jersey with my parents and my Dad was playing ball in the swimming pool with my cousins. The ball came out and onto the side, and as I threw it back, I also threw myself in - at the deep end. Yes, you've guessed it - I couldn't swim at the time - my Dad pulled me out, coughing and spluttering. The proverbial drowned rat. But I digress.
I am drowning in a sea of grief.
The waves crash over my head, dragging me deeper, catching me in the strong currents of sorrow. I tumble over and over, hitting my head on the beautiful coral; cuts ooze with my life blood attracting sharks. They circle around me, closing in for the kill and all I can think of is joining my Mum, ending the in exhaustive pain of her passing. Even if the sharks take their time, biting a bit off here and there, it would be nothing in comparison.
Fish of all colours and sizes dart past as the riptide keeps me submerged; I see them ...