It’s gray, thick and all encompassing. I can feel it on my face. It’s surrounds me like a dense itchy uncomfortable blanket. I want to move but I can’t see a thing, except for gray. It’s deep dark gray. I am at the mercy of it.

I move slowly and cautiously. My feet are bare. I can feel the condensation on my toes. I close my eyes. It’s black when they’re closed, but when I open them the grayness pierces them. My face is covered with droplets. I keep blinking my eyes because they’re saturated.

Step by step.
Inch by inch.
I am walking into the gray. It all looks the same. But I know on the other side of this, there is clean air and I will be able to breathe it.

On the other side of this fog he will be standing there. He will take my hand and we will walk together side by side onto the sand. Our feet will touch the cool wet sand together and I will not walk alone.

I lift my foot with the knowledge that this grayness is not forever. It’s only a passing thing. I will step one foot at a time through this fog.

I will make my way to that sand. I breathe into the opening in my chest. I inhale the grayness, and I exhale it out.

Each step I take, my feet feel steadier and I get the hang of moving in this dense atmosphere. It doesn’t seem so overwhelming as I learn to work with it. I integrate it into my being. And then I see it. There’s an opening. I pace myself. One foot at a time, inch by inch, I step toward that clear space within the gray. My body is saturated in water.

I am no longer afraid of the fog. I cut through it with my hands, using them like knives. I move slowly and deliberately toward the clear opening.

Then it happens. My face is soaked in sweat and I pierce through that opening. There’s a cool clean gust of wind that flows through my entire body. The sweat runs down my forehead and nearly disappears.

I look over and he is standing on the sand, his hand out stretched waiting for me. He’s been there all along. I take his hand and together we walk. I am not alone.