First Family Vacation

Another first in the first year after N’s death full of firsts: first family vacation without N, bittersweet. It was good to get away from all the immediate reminders of his death at home. I could relax and enjoy myself much of the time, though it felt strange devoting the days to pure enjoyment. It was good to spend a whole week with our older son; his company cushioned my husband and me from the pain that might have engulfed us more often if we were alone. Every day but one, I thought and wrote about N and cried.

He should have been there with us. He should have been on one of the sailboats bobbing in the lake, on one of the surfboards carving the waves, charging ahead of us up the mountain trail. He should have been joking with his cousin, talking motorcycles with his uncle, dissing me with his brother. He should have been gorging on seafood, berry pies, and plate-size pancakes. He should have been using his duffel bag, not us. He should have taken a photo like this, only much better.

I had a bunch of photos of N in my purse so that I could bring him with us on this trip. Mostly I took them out and cried in my moments alone. One day I took out the recent ones and showed him the wilderness beach where we were. All the places you could have gone, the things you could have done. The person you could have been, if you’d only given yourself a chance to heal and grow up. I resolved to take him with me everywhere when I travel, to bring him where he can no longer bring himself.

Wandering down a quiet beach, I found myself drawing in the sand with a piece of driftwood as tall as my shoulder. I started with a heart, and ended up putting N in it and facing the message toward the sea, just in case his spirit is out there.

I plan to draw him a heart on every beach I visit from now on. Feeling our way, creating new traditions . . .