Life is a Beach

Mom and Pepsi at Higgins Beach

Dear Pepsi,

We woke up Thursday morning and you seemed off - you were panting, coughing and a bit sluggish. I looked at your dad asked him if we should take you to the hospital and he shook his head and said, "Why should we do that? We stopped the chemo, so there is nothing they will do. I want her home with us." I agreed, and then suggested we go to the beach since it was a beautiful day. We all piled in the car and headed to Higgins Beach, your favorite place. I typically take you to the beach when the tide is out so you have more beach to run and play on; however, the tide was nearly in and the surf was rolling in close to the sea wall. You and your sisters were so excited!  You dove into the waves, ran along the shore and frolicked like a puppy. Watching you is so confusing and deceptive, most of the time you appear so healthy, making the cancer diagnosis seem like a hoax.

Dad, Pearly, Pandy and Pepsi

When we got home you had one of your best days. Hardly coughing, energetic, and so happy. I went to teach in the afternoon while Dad stayed at home with you. We huddled together in the living room watching TV until it was time for bed. Dad was leaving the next day to go back to California to work for a few weeks. You slept between Dad and I as always, with us listening to you breathe, ready to soothe if you coughed, but you didn't. We agreed taking you to the beach was a must and should happen as often as possible.  The next day we worked around the house before we brought Dad to the bus. It was unseasonably warm, sunny and no wind. I worked in a tank top and Dad in a T-shirt. You and your sisters enjoyed lounging in the sun. The hard part was when we took Dad to the bus to Logan Airport. Dad bent down to kiss you, tears in his eyes, and whispered, "Hang in there for me Pepsi until I come back in a few weeks, please don't go anywhere until then." We stood on the side of the road as the bus drove away so he could see you as long as possible. 

Dad and Pepsi

Last night you slept in the guest room. I refrained from luring you into my bed. Before you got sick you often slept in there. I need to let you do things you enjoy doing without so much fretting. When you coughed I heard you, and came in to check if there was blood. That happened about three times total. We slept in - to 8am - and woke to another beautiful day. I checked the tides and decided we would go to the beach, just you and I this time. I did some cleaning and laundry, and then we left around 10:30 am.  We arrived at the beach to find another warm, windless day with the sun nearly blinding as it glistened on the sea. The beach was empty with the exception of die hard surfers and a few doggies strolling with their parents. I let you off leash and you made a beeline for the water. We walked at the water's edge, me in my water proof Muck boots and you diving in and out of the waves. I took lots of videos and pictures. I want to document every minute of you, make a permanent imprint in my heart that will never be erased. 

In your glory

Since you got sick I have slowed to a crawl, mostly homebound and focusing only on what is essential, which is teaching. When we go for walks I try never to yank your leash and move you along. We go slow so you can linger and smell all the interesting scents. I wonder why it took you getting sick for me to slow it down. Why was I rushing you when we walked anyway? What was so important I denied you the joy of exploring? Whatever I was rushing to seems trivial now. When we returned from the beach I raked up and bagged the last of the leaves. The afternoon sun gave the illusion of late spring, not fall. I put you on a leash (because you are a runner and you know it) and we sat on the front steps while your sisters stretched out on the lawn. We watched the world go by, which on a dead end street can be quite uneventful. A few neighbors walked by and visited; however, mostly we sat quietly as the few remaining leaves fell from the trees. I try to keep thoughts of cancer cells invading your body at bay; however, the weird reality of you being sick against your mostly healthy self is difficult to reconcile. We are a unit, it has been us against the world since we moved to Texas in 2009. We trekked across the country and back by car and plane. When I moved to Portland in September of 2013 to teach at the university, I rented a room for two months while I looked for a house. You stayed with Dad in California and I flew back every other weekend, thanks to Jonathan working for an airline. It was exhausting but I could not sustain without seeing you and your sisters. It took a few months to find the perfect house and neighborhood, and I lived here for 6 weeks before I came to California to drive you East. When we finally arrived at 3am and you bolted through the door, the house officially became home to me. 

Hanging out in the front yard

Though it was January, we began going to the beach right away and it became our ritual no matter what the weather. Wherever we lived, water has been our refuge, even in Texas at Walnut Creek Park where you swam in creek beds; however, nothing can compare to the ocean. You have crested waves in the Pacific, swam in the gentle San Pablo Bay near our Pinole house, and now you claim the Atlantic, swimming whether it is 13 or 80 degrees. I grew up going to the beach since I was a young child, it is the place of my best childhood memories. When I dive into a wave at nearly 60 years of age I still feel the delight of my 9 year old self. I have a strange little habit of dedicating the dive to those I love.  Of the three of you girls, you are the one who loves to swim the most, the first to tear into the surf and jump the waves. Pearl likes to chase birds, Pandy running in circles, and while they love to swim, you are the true water baby. When we walk the trail along the San Pablo Bay near our house in California, you always pull toward the path that leads to the bay beach no matter how long it has been since you have been there. I will never be at a beach without thinking of you, seeing you prance toward the water then plow fearlessly into the waves. I will see you at Muir Beach while I freeze in fear that you will get swallowed up by a huge wave, at China Camp where the water rolls gently onto the pebbled beach, your first visit to Stinson Beach when you got sick from swallowing too much water, and your beloved Higgins Beach, which will never be the same without you. 

Our life together has been a beach - wild, beautiful, sometimes rocky, joyful, soothing, full of unbroken blue, and part of an eternal rhythm. Moving forward, as I dive into a wave you will hear me say, This one is for you Pepsi girl, and through that I will bring you with me and we will never be apart. Never.

Love you my darling Peps,

Mom