It's always ourselves we find in the sea

I've always had a thing about the ocean.

I spent my 25th birthday with the sun blistering my skin, salt water
caked in my hair and sand finding its way into places it certainly
didn't belong. I had my best girls at my side and a cooler full of
cheese, fruit and water at my feet. It was perfect.

There are many arguments to be made against the beach. I've heard them
all. I've side-eyed people who say "Oh, I just don't really like the
beach. I prefer a pool or a lake". I understand that sand is
annoying...that the water can be cold...and the space can be crowded,
less than tranquil- but it's just not a philosophy that I can get
behind.

My earliest memories are of summer trips to the beach. My grandmother,
my great aunt and my mother would pack up and head to York. We would
spend hours there. Initially, I wouldn't let me feet touch the sand so
I was dutifully carried, from my beach chair into the ocean, where
Nana held my hand and taught me how to jump the waves. My own mother
almost always stayed behind, content with her book and beach chair.

I've been lucky enough to travel a lot. I've swam in the Mediterranean
Ocean, as warm as bath water and in the crystal blue waters of the
Caribbean.

But the Atlantic, the water so cold it leaves you breathless, where
once your toes go numb it's really not so bad....that is the ocean I
like the best.

When I found out I was pregnant, the beach become my refuge. Even in
the winter months, I would drive the coast and find a place to park,
where I would open my window just enough to hear the waves and let the
sound of the saltwater overtake the sound of my own salty tears. It
was this same beach that I paced while urging Grace to make her
appearance into the world.

It is the one place where the sting of existing in a world without my
grandmother is softened. I feel her there always and perhaps that is
why it brings me so much peace. People are afraid of the ocean- of its
depths and imagined dangers. Songs have been written about feeling
small beside the ocean (hello, junior high graduation) but- I
disagree.  By the ocean, I am safe, but not diminished. I am content
in the knowledge, that no matter what, those waves will continue to
break upon the shore.

On vacation in the Cape earlier in the summer, I glanced up from my
own book to see Grace and her Mimi, hand in hand, jumping waves. Waves
she had been petrified of, a day before. I surprised myself with a
quick intake of breath, followed by a warmth that poured into my soul
as I was overcome with memories of moments spent in that very same
way. I then picked up my book and continued reading, intensely
satisfied once again by this natural role reversal.

I can’t say enough about how grateful I am that Grace is getting to
experience the same closeness with her grandmother that I was blessed
enough to share with mine. And if you read the latest guest post on
here you know that the relationship she has with her grampa is more
wonderful than I could have ever imagined

Right now? Grace loves the beach. Our last trip, she was entertained for hours just playing in the sand & "swimming" with Mama in the waves. I can only hope the joy she feels now when she gets her first glimpse of the shoreline is sustaining.

May the beach be where Gracie goes when the world is too crazy, when

her battered heart calls her home. And may she always feel, no matter
where I am, that I’m keeping a watchful eye on her, marveling at her
bravery, from my beach chair on the shore.