Simeon has never seen the ocean. We’ve spent two summers together. The first was our introduction to hospital living and trachs and acceptance and moving on. The second was our introduction to waiting. We didn’t avoid the ocean exactly (you don’t really have to “avoid” the ocean in Ohio) but we certainly didn’t plan any trips. We were content to test the waters at the pool and enjoy a quiet little summer at home.
This year is different– and not just because we lost the trach. I think we feel safe. We trust ourselves. We know we can travel far from home. Far from our doctors. We can take it. Sim can take it. We breathe easier. So we’ve come to St. Simon’s Island on the Georgia coast. It’s beautiful and warm and salty and everything a coastal town should be.
When we stepped off the boardwalk and into the stinging heat of white sand, our little boy looked out at the waves, shaking all over. Laughing. Reaching. Pointing. Looking at me and signing “water” over and over again.
Water. Water. Water.
As if I couldn’t see.
As if I might miss it.
As if my eyes weren’t salty wet, brimming with gratitude and triumph behind my sunglasses.
Expect some quiet around here this week. We’ve sailed into the mystic…