Identity (#captureyourgrief)

Identity

 

 CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF Photographic Challenge from CarlyMarie Project Heal is part of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month – October 2013 and I am making it more personal for me by taking a photo and then using it to create a short story. - See more at: http://www.thisisawand.com/search/label/%23capturethegrief#sthash.Q7gXbzm1.dpuf

“I used to take these two at a time” She thought out loud with a tinge of bitterness as she stared down the steps to the beach below.  Their steepness and height now brought with them a vague sense of vertigo and she could barely manage them at all, only with the help of  the recently installed handrail her son-in-law had insisted on. “We’re just worried about you Mum” he had justified, attempting to soothe her wounded pride when the workman had just turned up out of the blue, but she knew that it was really all about the resale value.  And she had told him so too, angrily slamming the phone down. Still she had conceded to it, and now the handrail was a blight on the landscape. Down on the dunes beside the path, the marram grass hadn’t recovered sufficiently to camouflage it, after the rude trampling it had endured.

A seagull screeched, as the cold southerly blasted a full-frontal assault, and the chill cut through her. Even her bones could taste the salt in the air and she was alive in the wind. The knotted old wood of the steps had long been bleached white from years of salt and sun, and was pure natural beauty in the matching white sand. Some days it was hard to see where the steps lay and the sand rolled around them. In fact the transition from house to beach was seamless, a pantone scale of grey bleached blue and through to white, she used to glide down the colors every morning on nimble feather light feet.  What a contrast to now. Over time her morning run had become a jog, and then a walk. Now there was a foul yellow pine barrier to those days, an alien starkly foreign wood against her bleached driftwood landscape.

And soon she would have to leave. As quick and forceful as the prevailing southerly, the suits had swept in and their minimalist hands decluttered her eccentricities, her choices, and her life. Her memories neatly packed into boxes and stacked by the door. A sign had barely gone up before it was slapped with a yellow “Sold By” sticker, and the pens that signed on the dotted line were lightening quick and filled with oh so permanent ink.

And now here she was facing her last morning on the beach. The moving truck was returning later that morning to pick up the last of her possessions.  She looked toward the porch; the cane furniture now stacked as neatly as the end result of a giant game of Tetris. Her driftwood and shell wind-chime remained swinging in the breeze, articulating a lonely haunting soliloquy. She mentally noted it in her book of things still to do and suddenly looked away. She couldn’t bear to look at the house that was so vitally and intrinsically her. She had spent her best years there. There a mother had been born, and reaffirmed once, no twice more. But what was she now, after they had been and gone? Two were grown up, and looking forward with their own families. One was still with her, forever young.  This house and the beach were her connection. For so long the constant to her past, her present and her future. But no longer, not her future now.

She started down the steps, her feet finding the comfortable indentation in the ridges automatically, in the familiar greeting of two fond friends. She let the handrail go briefly; pausing to run her hands through the beach grasses. Feeling the sharpness as they sliced against her skin, hearing the accustomed rustles and whistles of her own private wilderness. She had taken this pathway so many times, yet each journey was a little different. What would today bring?  A spider’s web had formed on the razor edges between two strands, and bravely fought against the cruel buffering. It had been there several days now, and remained despite the odds. That first day it had been pristine, perfect symmetry of lace with jewel drop crystals, straight from a Cartier window display. Now it was weathered, angular and battered with less than half the strands, but still grimly determined to hold on.  She would never know if it was still there tomorrow. She hoped so.

Slowly and deliberately she descended the rest of the way, savoring each moment, embracing each step goodbye with her feet. After an eternity and a instant, she found herself standing on the beach. Her beach. The sand was damp and dark in contrast to the pure natural white of the sand dune, but gleamed like black glass, unblemished. The trials of the day before wiped clean, beginning anew each morning. She dropped her worries here on the wet sand each morning with that first step down, and often found them much lighter on her return, if she could find them at all. The advantage of arising so early was that she almost always had the beach to herself. Only the harsh screeches of the gulls reminding her at regular intervals whom the beach really belonged to. It was not a beach that lent itself to the pleasure of the general public. Rough and rugged with stony crags, it felt unfinished; not conforming to the aesthetic desires of the powers that be, it was discarded and lost forever. To her however, it was an accustomed friend, sometimes raw, needy and pained, sometimes soothing and supportive, but always there.  For her alone.

But not today, today of all days! Her heart sunk in despair as she saw the footprints. Someone had already been here before her.  The betrayal was instant and complete. There was no doubt that this was no longer her beach.  A solitary set of footprints spreading out in the damp sand, deep impressions that might as well have been stamped on her heart. She stepped deliberately and disdainfully in each one, as to wipe them from the sand and erase their unwelcome presence. The footprints were a size or two bigger than her size six. A woman, she wondered, or maybe a teenage boy? Who were they? What had brought them to this beach in the dim light of the early morning, where they have never been before?  Would they return again tomorrow? Again, questions she would never have answered.  She wondered about the gifts the beach was giving these footprints, as it had been so generous with her. Relief? Refuge? Release? She tasted salt as a memory escaped and rolled down her cheek as it often did here. She blinked away the sight of another set of tiny footprints from long ago, and convinced herself it was salt in the sea air. She was leaving this place soon and was determined not to waste this precious morning.

Ignoring the presence of her walking companion, with resolute steps she continued to say goodbye to her beach. She rounded the last corner of her walk, and pulled up short with incredulity. An answer of sorts came with a name written in the sand.  She bent down and traced above the letters with her finger, carefully as not to disturb the sand or touch this small insight into a different moment of time. Was this the name of her walking companion? Or someone important to them? She imagined a teenage boy. Sandy brown hair, bleached white blonde by salt and sun. A pure natural rugged beauty.  An awkward, gangly gait, from someone yet to grow comfortable with their limbs. Deep sea-blue eyes, kind with understanding and empathy wiser than his years. A ringing laugh, echoing promises of cheekiness and good-natured fun. A boy that would treat his mother with respect, who would listen attentively as his father offered unsolicited words of wisdom. A boy who would tease his sisters mercilessly, but would bravely step up to protect their dignity and honor at any perceived slight.

She knew with certainty that whatever other questions were left unanswered, he would have a good heart. She was leaving this place soon; the doctors had told her so. She hoped that if she were ever to meet this boy, he might be kind enough to assist an old lady down some steep steps.

I wrote your name in the sky, but the wind blew it away,
I wrote your name in the sand, but the waves washed it away,
I wrote your name in my heart, and forever it will stay. 

The CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF Photographic Challenge from CarlyMarie Project Heal is part of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month – October 2013 and I am making it more personal for me by taking a photo and then using it to create a short story.

Take your own picture, write your own words, take your own journey of healing - October 2013 #captureyourgrief ….