Beach Days

The sun-drenched mornings of spring sang out announcements of approaching summer in suburbia. Cool breezes and bright sunlight reminds her of by-gone days spent at the beach watching sea gulls and pelicans flying effortlessly over the waves of ocean water. Visual memories of the random brown pelican spying its next meal in the murky bowl of sushi water suddenly dive bombing into the ocean and then emerging victoriously never ceased to amaze the girl. It was not for having spent numerous days at the beach that make her yearn for sandy beaches, but the happy memories of a child walking on the warm sands of the Gulf. So pleasantly memorable, she is sent on a vacation of time travel back to the slow, carefree days spent on a Gulf Coast beach in Texas.

As a child the start of summer occasionally brought weekends with her parents and brother at a beach house. Her dad repaired and painted a beach house for an elderly couple with an invalid son who would soon arrive from the city to spend the summer. The couple’s friend back in the city allowed the little girl and her family to enjoy her beach house next door while her dad worked. During the hot days her dad worked preparing the house for the elderly couple while the girl and her brother played in on the sandy beach. It was most fun when Dad took a break to join them in the water playing, laughing and feeling the grit between their toes on the hot sand. Late in the day as the sun set, shrimp boats sailed into sight. Sitting on the porch juicy watermelon trickled down the chins of the children and a game of spitting seeds would bring the day to an end.

Hot sticky days turned into hot sticky nights of sitting on the edge of a short bed, looking through window screens at the ocean waves. A full moon threw a spotlight on foaming white caps as they tumbled down on the sand. Listening to the waves crash in and out like a huge sea creature’s breathing was hypnotizing. Through the open windows, a humid Gulf Coast breeze blew across the open area of the room and the little girl felt sleep would never come. Although, with nothing more to do the next day except build sand castles, sleepily sit on the porch, soaking in the hot, lazy days of summer; it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t sleep tonight. Swoosh! Crash! In. Out. Swoosh! Crash! In. Out. Loud waves mingled in with the calls of sea gulls as they sailed above the swells of salt water. Trapped forever in my senses is the taste of salt on dry parched lips.

Sing, Birds!

On days like today, I wake up, make coffee, and open the patio door and listen. It’s spring and the birds are singing happily. The sweet aroma of the flowering Ligustrum trees outside my patio doors fills the air as honeybees flit about its blossoms. An occasional breeze wakes my wind chimes to play a tickling tune, a distant dove coos for its mate and the sun begins to warm the day. I love it! This is my favorite time for nature to show off, sing and prepare us for summer’s casual, lazy days. 

As much as this time of year revs me up to clean, create and make plans, it also makes me a bit melancholy. I start to feel sad, lonely and somewhat overwhelmed. My spirit wants me to jump up and get busy doing and creating all the lovely projects I’ve seen on Pinterest. My head shouts for me to get up! Get busy! Do something! and my soul seems sadly resistant to those demands. 

Late April 1993, my mother was sick. She had cancer and was not receiving treatments because by the time her disease was detected, the cancer was too far advanced. What is more, Mother’s doctor had not confronted her with the fact that she was dying. My brothers were not sure it was a good idea to burden her with her true condition, or perhaps they were simply not willing to break the news to our mom. As the "baby" sister, I was not feeling my voice heard, and wished someone would tell her that she had cancer…bad cancer. I thought she should know, would want to know and wished the doctor would tell her, but he did not. Even our daddy, with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s disease, seemed to know that mother was in dire straights. 

The last time I spoke to Mom, she was lying in her bed, contemplating a return to the hospital for a mastectomy because a surgeon had discovered the huge mass in her breast. Before I left her bed that Sunday, I told her that she did not have to go through with the surgery. I could tell she was apprehensive and since she had always been leery about going in the hospital for surgery, I just wanted to hint to her that this surgery was not going to help her. Her cancer was not only in her breast but also in her pancreas and spreading to other places in her body. One surgery was only going to make her uncomfortable and it wasn’t going to help her to live any longer. So, I simply told her that she did not have to go through with it. 

Many times as I drove home from Port Neches, I cried. My stomach stayed in knots, I seemed to be sleep deprived, and wanted to drink. Even in my restless nights, I know I dreamed. Mostly, I just wanted it to be over. That Sunday I drove back home I had to go to my school where I taught 2nd grade. I needed to catch up on work from the previous week of substitutes and make new lesson plans. As I drove to the school, my cell phone rang and it was my husband. I pulled over to park at a nearby gasoline station while I listened to him tell me he had just spoken to my older brother. Johnny, who was 10 years older than me and the “one in charge”, had talked to Mom after I left. He said that Mom had asked him what I meant when I told her she didn’t have to have the surgery. I think she really knew, but wanted the words said out loud. Poor, tough, gentle Johnny had to explain to our mother just how bad it was. She decided not to do go through with the surgery and to stay at home.

Soon after that I began to take turns with my brother, to stay with Mom. The last week before she died, she went into a coma. My sister in-law, Cynthia’s, mom was a retired LVN and she came to stay with me as we watched mother live out her last days. I am so very grateful for Barbara, words cannot express the fullness of my gratitude to her. Without Barbara, I do not know how I would have been able to function there with Mom. Mother finally passed away at 4:00 a.m., May 4, 1993. Barbara and I stood at the foot of Mom’s bed, listening for her next staggered breath. As she breathed her last, a single tear ran from Mother's eye. Barbara wrapped her arms around me, a sense of massive swelling formed in my chest and we cried. 

My other brother, Richard, is a very sensitive, emotional soul. He had only come in that last night to stay at the house with us and Johnny went home to sleep. I believe Richard didn’t know how to cope with Mom’s passing. I called Johnny to come back to the house. As the funeral director and ambulance response team were inside the house with the rest of us, Richard went outside to speak to a police officer who had also come. I have never asked him what they talked about, but I’m sure it was something nothing short of simply words to pass time.

Along with Mom, our sweet daddy passed 5 years later, my fun, bubbly sister in law, Cynthia, died of cancer and my strong, smart brother, Johnny, left us in 2011. It’s hard to believe and sad that I can’t speak to any of them again because I truly miss them all. As I write this, it would seem as though a phrase such as, "but all of them are together in heaven, talking with one another" would be implied here. But I don't know that it's true. They all surely passed to heaven because better people can not be found. As to whether they recognized each other and are carrying on conversations, is another matter. Although, it is a comforting thought.

Spring is my favorite time of the year. So, sing, birds! Sing and be happy in the warmth of the sun, the light of a new day, gentle breezes, and life will go on.