The weather forecast had said heavy rains, Tru's college work had been due, I had woken up with a headache. All good reasons, not to drive out to the North Sea, after checking out of our cozy Bruges tiny house. We went anyways. And Darlings, am I glad we did!
I don't know what it is about the sea that gets me every time. Is it the salty smells? The breezy air? My toes in the sand? The surf around my ankles? I don't know.
Even on the windiest, coldest of days, the ocean warms my soul. I look out onto the water and the line of the horizon and it seems to say "everything will be ok". As in life, I don't know what's out there. As in life, waves come and go. In life, the future can make me feel anxious and uncertain. But staring at these endless waters fills me with certainty and a sort of relief.
In the midst of my father's last weeks of struggle, I told my husband, that if my father dies before my birthday, I will go to the beach for my birthday. He asked, "But what about Paris?". I said, "Paris can wait. I will need the ocean. It's healing".
So we went. We put our toes in the cold sand, danced around, ran through the chilly surf, laughed. We gave each other salty kisses, with strands of hair in our faces. We laughed a lot and let out sounds of cheer. And we healed a little.
Then, we brushed off the sand, changed into dry pants, got some coffee and started driving home.