There is something about going home that is comfortable. Slipping off all the cares and stresses of the world to be a child
again. Life can be so….
My husband’s mother’s funeral was still in recent memory and
I needed a safe haven. The beach was
it. I remember right after my dad’s
funeral it was a welcome respite. Our
dear friends owned a beach house and we headed there for a wild Labor Day
weekend of healing and early bedtimes.
Catching up was done under the stars sipping wine and
enjoying dinner and slapping mosquitos; at least I could still attract
something. The early mornings were spent
on the beach looking at the sun’s reflection in the water and reflecting a bit
myself. So many memories and years
ago-my mother-in-law had walked this very beach, so had my son and
daughter.
I keep coming back time and again. It is like returning home and running the
bases and feeling that age old exhilaration of something akin to winning;
bagging home.
