Today I’m thankful for the beach.
Actually, every day I’m thankful for the beach. I’m glad it’s there, offering me possibility and inviting me home.
I was raised on the beach the way Tarzan was raised in the jungle. I collected shells, built sand cars, ran away, rocked my Wonder Woman bathing suit, learned to swim, maybe went skinny dipping, nearly drowned, all in the great Atlantic Ocean.
I lived for a brief stint in the midwest and every moment I felt just a little too far from the salty water and smell of honeysuckle. Moving back to New England, living under an hour from the beach, has been a return for me.
I sat my big pregnant butt on the rocky shore to watch the sunrise, drink coffee, and hold my husband’s hand as we wondered if we really had what it takes to be parents. I bundled up my firstborn just days after his birth and walked the beach in the dead of winter. I dragged Aidan’s oxygen and feeding tube to the beach, determined not the let his medical life steal my soul life. And last summer we had the best ever cousin beach vacation, complete with an earthquake and hurricane. Aidan had a stroller that was portable and beach worthy.
Now Aidan has wheels, big electric wheels that have given him a wonderful amount of independence. However, his power wheelchair can’t go on the beach and he can’t walk on a changing surface. It’s just one more part of our lives that has been modified. I can’t give up the beach.
Last week I took a couple of mornings while Aidan was in school to walk the beach, to sit and read in the sun, to fall asleep and wake up with a burn…to be fed, to recharge.
The beach is my slice of normalcy, my moment of escape. It brings me home.
Shared at Joy in This Journey