5 December, 2013
At the water’s edge I find myself looking at the ground as I run barefoot, fascinated by the gradual transformation the waves make upon the sand. Footprints, sand castles, marks made by others that have temporarily scarred the surface are slowly, repeatedly washed by the gentle tides, over and over again, distorting, smoothing and eventually erasing all trace of what was left before. Like the expression on my face, the crease in my brow, I imagine a tide of a different kind washing over it, gently, slowly but surely easing my pain.
But new footprints appear, new sandcastles, new marks by new inhabitants. The cycle repeats ad infinitum. My memories blur. I can no longer recall which came before which…A child cries in the distance. A seagull swoops down unexpectedly, stealing the slice of cheese out of a young girl’s hand and she laughs.
“Moooom!” I look up to the sound of a young boy shouting, beckoning from a flag planted in the sand a short distance up ahead. I am brought back to the present. It brings a smile to my face, the memory of my loss now fading into the background. It is my son, living, breathing, here and now right in front of me, just one lifeguard station away. And so I run on.
