I learned not too long ago that Hemingway used to have a way of writing where he would take a personal experience and then take someone else's personal experience, mesh them together and create a story as if he experienced the whole event himself! I really liked that idea so I have been experimenting with it. If you notice your name or an experience you had in one of my stories that is exactly what I am doing. I was supposed to do my Fear Touch story this week but I was moved by the sea to write another story. This story is based on my day at the beach mixed with a military wife losing her husband. Ever since I saw American Sniper I just can't get the Kyle family out of my thoughts. This helped mend that bit of sadness I had for them.
I hope you all enjoy this story this week and enjoy my pictures of my trip so far! See you all next Monday!
*I know there are multiple pictures of the same scene with hardly any differences but it was too pretty to not capture! So sorry not sorry!
Week
5 (2-8 February 2015)
My
Red, White and Blue
They
handed me the patriotic triangle that signaled the end of my
husband's funeral. Inconsolable, I thanked the young man who
graciously and delicately handed me the flag these men so valiantly
fought for. My husband's dog tags hung from my neck and danced as I
heaved out hot, salty tears of my earth shattering grief. Gone. He
was gone. When we had the private viewing he looked so peaceful, like
he was happily sleeping his death away. My sorrow felt like it had no
bounds as my children and I spent the next couple of weeks cuddled in
my bed. I would have to learn to sleep alone, which I had done while
my husband was deployed but he was alive then. I could still smell
his cologne on his pillow as if his flesh was pressed against wet
cheek.
Weeks
went by and months followed after the loss of my husband. Soon it
would be a year since I had lost my soul mate. A dear friend of mine
had moved in to help me raise my young, fatherless children. She was
the angel we needed in these dark months and somehow managed to keep
us all afloat. I noticed her staring at me on day and asked her what
she was looking at.
“I
was hoping to catch you smiling. I haven't seen you smile for almost
a year now,” it was true. Since the loss I had not smiled. My
children had not smiled. No one smiled around me. We were weak in our
desperation for a sense of normality in the wake of the destruction
we called life now. I didn't know what to say. Did I scream at her
about how pitiful I felt? Did I all to the floor at how completely
lost I was? Did I dare smile to appease her? I looked down. Hot,
stinging tears pressing on my eyelids as I tried to blink them away,
“I have an idea. You should do something on the anniversary of his
death.”
I
sighed. How could I? How could I commemorate such a tragic day? My
sorrowful plea must have seeped through to her because she came over
to me and hugged me.
“I
will take the kids for the day. They should do something happy, maybe
we can visit some of his friends. I want you to spend the day alone
with the thoughts of your husband. Your first date was at the beach.
Go to the beach and reflect on him. Reflect on yourself. Tell him you
love him and tell him he will always be with you.”
It
was actually a brilliant idea. I didn't want to do it but I could not
say no, she wouldn't let me anyway. No sense in fighting and a day
alone with my husband is what I needed. Our first date was at Newport
Pier. I had sand in my shoes for weeks. He bought me an ice cream
cone and we walked the beach all the way to Balboa Pier. He was such
a gentleman, bending down to snatch up shells he thought I would like
as a keepsake. He held my hand and even saved me from falling in the
sand like some sort of fairy tale prince charming. We kissed under
the pier as the sun set on our day long first date. Nothing had ever
felt so true, so pure as that first day together. We spent the entire
day talking and getting to know each other, now I was to go and find
myself without him. I thanked my friend for her suggestion, packed up
my kids to spend the day with her and hugged her. She gave me a sad
smile and off I drove.
When
I arrived at the beach I noticed I had a voice mail from my dear
friend. Hoping the children were alright I listened to it, “Today
will be one of the most difficult days of your life and I am really
sorry you have to go through that. Please do me one favor while you
are there. I want you to look out onto the ocean and tell me how many
hands are pushing the waves. I love you Kat,” How many hands are
pushing the waves? I was puzzled by her inquiry. The moon pushed the
tide, there were no hands. I shrugged my shoulders and began what I
felt was a huge mistake.
The
boardwalk had its usual buzz. Gulls were cawing at tourists throwing
bread. People hummed the soft chatter of excitement in the distance.
I could hear the scraping of wax on surf boards and the gritty roll
of passing bicyclists. It was warm out and a light breeze rolled by
here and there. I strolled through the hectic beach city and couldn't
help but feel sorry for how lonely I felt amongst all these people. I
kept my head down and kicked the sand for the next couple of miles. I
felt pitiful, hopeless and just all around heartbroken. My best
friend was gone. The father of my children was dead. I was a widow
and I was only in my 30's. I never got to experience a 20th
anniversary. I will never get to grow old with him. He is not within
grasp and I can't even hear his voice or have him reason with me
anymore. It was all gone. I looked around and saw no one was there. I
was alone on the beach and it was fitting. I crumpled into a heap on
my knees and cried. Heavy sobs gushed from my chest until I had no
more tears to donate the shore.
I
sat on the crunchy sand, not caring that the tide could nearly reach
me and that the sand was extremely moist. I closed my eyes for a
moment and remembered what my friend had told me. I opened my eyes to
look for the hands pushing the waves and instead, I was met with an
astonishing sight. The swell was strong, I could see it sucking back
the water like the ocean was inhaling the land to create foamy waves
and a steep incline because the tide was out. The salty air tickled
my nostrils and kissed my dewy skin. I looked at the crashing waves
and the incoming roll of ocean that would be the next round of waves.
There were no hands. Nothing was pushing the sea to meet the shore.
All of nature was working as one to create this symphony of peace and
harmony. The surf this Sunday was my church and each new inhale and
exhale of waves was God telling me I wasn't alone. I realized then
that I had my husband's dog tags around my neck. They were pressed
against my chest, as close to my heart and I could get them.
There
were no hands pushing the waves. It was all a symbiotic relationship
between creator and created. I was alone on this beach but in my
heart I knew I was never really alone. I began to talk to my husband
and I let the ocean answer for him. I kissed his dog tags and pressed
the cold metal to my chest, imagining all the times he had kissed me
on this beach. I dug my toes into the sand remembering all the times
I made him sit on my feet to keep them warm. I spoke to the sea
breeze about our children and let the wind carry our grief off to a
place where it could be stored safely away from us. I stood up,
nearly weak in the knees from sitting in the sand for so long. I
stumbled a step or two and a couple jogging by at that exact moment,
as if my husband had told them what a klutz I am, caught me before I
tumbled down into the engulfing swell below. For the first time in a
year, I smiled at this sweet couple enjoying the space that held so
much love for me. I gathered a few shells to bring home to my
precious children and headed home. I was greeted by the happiest
little faces that looked more and more like my husband everyday. We
kissed and hugged and smiled some more. They saw me happy, they
deserved me happy.
Tragedy
forced my family to live with an empty void in our home and in our
hearts but we began to manage. We sought solace in nature and spoke
to our fallen hero in the surf and in the breeze. We let the birds
carry our fears to heaven. We let the ocean wash away our sadness. We
let the shells remind us that, even though our home will forever have
a pair of unused boots by the front door, this is all just temporary
for home is carried in your heart. I still grieve for the man so
madly fell in love with but I cherish the time we had and our talks
on the beach in his absence. I know in that wet, salty sand I am
never without him.
No comments:
Post a Comment