Microblog Mondays: Waves

We’re down under at the moment, visiting Q.’s family.

It’s technically winter here now, but the weather has thus far more closely resembled what would be a nice spring day at home (except in the late afternoon when it gets cold and dark unexpectedly quickly).

Yesterday we walked to the beach. There were humpback whales breaching off shore and sea eagles soaring overhead. It was a beautiful day.

E. went for a paddle in the shallow end of the rock pool.

Q. went for a swim in the ocean.

He caught a few waves and even though I know, I KNOW, that he grew up doing this, that he has done this thousands of times, that he knows how to read the ocean in ways that my father never could have, I still spent his entire swim trying not to cry or throw up (I wanted to do both).

I haven’t been next to the ocean since it happened.

I’m going to be visiting this beach every couple of years for decades to come. One day my children will not want to swim in the rock pool. They will want to dive into the waves, just like their father, just like I once did.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it again.

This post is part of #MicroblogMondays. To read the inaugural post and find out how you can participate, click here.

Advertisements

8 Comments

Filed under Anxiety Overload, Family, Microblog Mondays

8 responses to “Microblog Mondays: Waves

  1. Oh Turia, I missed your post last year, and I am so sorry. I can totally understand that you can’t go in the water, and feel sick seeing others – especially Q – there too.

    I hope that you can enjoy your time over the ditch (as we say here) despite this. (And there should be a postcard waiting for you when you get home!)

  2. I can’t even imagine. ((Hugs))

  3. Sending hugs. My heart was in my throat while at the Vineyard last summer. But, and I’m sending you an email cause this turned into an overly personal book, I swam and I think you should try to too. Much love.

  4. nonsequiturchica

    I can imagine how freaked out you must have been. I think that something to try to remember (and frankly, it may not be possible and you may never move past the fear) is that your dad had a freak accident. Maybe now that the baby is a toddler you will have some time to process everything that happened last year?

  5. Such a beautiful place, such hard emotions. Wishing you courage.

  6. So amazing how you try so hard to not let your (justifiable) fears taint your children’s love of the water. You have every reason to want to keep them away from it and you don’t. How many of us let our totally irrational fears infect our children’s perceptions? You’re amazing. Much love and strength. xo

  7. Jill A.

    My youngest died in 1991. I worry about my family, my kids, getting injured, dying. In 1998, my son decided he wanted to join a football team. Is there anything worse than football for worrying? (Yes, but not when your kid is on the field.) Seven years of games, five years of daily practice during the season. The last two years he drove himself to practice. Every game, every practice, I had one eye on my son and one eye on the ambulance that is mandatory in the US. Are the EMS alert? Are they there? Are they watching? Nonstop fear. It was finally the last season, he was done. In the fall, he was going off to college. Where he joined the rugby team. The effing Rugby Team.

    I don’t know how you are going to allow your children, your family to enjoy the ocean. To love it, as so many do. I know you will. You are. I don’t think the fear ever goes away. Somehow, the love is worth the fear. I wish for you some peace, any little bit, while at the ocean.

  8. Awwww. Totally understandable. Sending (((hugs))).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s