Don't Let Life Get in the Way of Living

The last time I went to Nags Head, N.C., I had just ended a disastrous marriage and was in the process of changing from a short-term clerical job with regular hours back to my chosen career of journalism.

I loaded my two children and two dogs into the five-speed Nissan 240 SX that the children's father had bought for our soon-to-be-15-year-old and, without the aid of GPS or Mapquest, drove about six hours to the Outer Banks of North Carolina because I remembered liking the beach there when I went once at about 15.

Ethan was 9 at the time, a little, blond-haired slip of a boy with no hint of the big baby he had been at birth or the hulking young man he would grow into. He and his sister slept most of trip there just to spend a couple of days at the beach.

We stayed in a beachfront motel by the Nags Head Fishing Pier. My Jack Russell, Lucy, was terrified of the beach. My daughter's cocker spaniel, Eddie, loved it. Even in August, the water was chilly, but the children and Eddie frolicked. Lucy, who was always well mannered, sat with me on my towel and watched the waves.

We ate pizza from a place up the street, watched kites on the sand dunes, bought souvenir jewelry and clothing, including a too large Hawaiian shirt Ethan fell in love with.

The next morning I was up before dawn, slipping out the door of our room to cross the dunes with Lucy who chased ghost crabs on the beach and overcame her fear of the ocean before we watched the sun come up. We played in the waves all day before heading home, chased by a storm that blew in off the ocean and heavy rain that pelted us through much of the drive.

It was a magical time carved out of lives that were never as easy as I would have liked them to be, never as peaceful as they may have looked from the outside. For years, through other beach trips and life changes, those two sun-drenched days in an old motel with two kids and two dogs have stood out in my mind as a time when our lives were in balance and as close to perfect as they ever managed to be.

After Ethan died in December, his sister broached the subject of a return trip sometime in the spring. The trip was a glistening memory in her mind as well. We both tried to reach the old motel where we had stayed with no success and she found other older beachfront accommodations. It turned to be just north of the smaller Nags Head pier, on the same street as our earlier stay.

Sunday morning, after we all managed to get our respective ducks in a row, we made a return visit to Nags Head, this time in two vehicles, with husbands, no dogs, but instead two preschoolers who didn't really remember seeing the ocean before we crossed over the dunes when we arrived, and a toddler who had never been.

We stayed three nights and four glorious days, taking in as much sun, sand and seafood as we could stomach. We visited the aquarium and the Bodie Island lighthouse. We bought souvenirs, collect seashells, touched stingrays, built sandcastles, and I personally walked barefoot until I removed a layer from the bottom of my feet. We slept together in a two-bedroom apartment with a foldout sofa bed, no AC in the bedrooms and trash trucks passing in the middle of the night.

Before dawn each day I slipped from my bed, past sleeping children and out the door to wander the beach and watch the sun rise, missing the company of my Lucy (who died suddenly a year after our earlier trip) and the presence of my son. Many times I stood and looked out over the waves and cried, mostly when I was alone, at the hole in my heart and the fate that took that little boy from me. Even surrounded by my family, sometimes I imagined how it might have been to have made a return trip with two sets of grandchildren. I pictured the little people scattered all over the beach building sandcastles and darting in and out of the waves like sandpipers, calling me Ma and demanding my help in their adventures. I would feel the tears well up and know that for a while my face was out of focus until I pushed the what might have beens away and pulled my thoughts back to what was.

Today, even though the sun is hot and the pool is warmer than the ocean ever thought of being, I'm inside, returning to reality with a new vacation jewel added to my memories.

It saddens me to know that if we hadn't lost Ethan, none of us would have taken the time to extricate ourselves from our lives for the trip. We'd have let jobs and dogs and homes and everyday responsibilities, the fact that we practically live in one another's pocket sometimes with the shared care of the children, keep us from taking time off together. Sitting on the beach one afternoon I realized that the trip was a gift from Ethan, who in dying and leaving us reminded us that we cannot take the people in our lives for granted because no day comes with a guarantee of tomorrow.

Today as I've uploaded 200 photos for processing, converting my memories from what is in my mind to what I can share, accepting that I'm not perfect, but at least I'm in the picture (which I never was 15 years ago), as I've celebrated the journey and adventures we shared, I've also let myself mourn for what wasn't and what will never be. I've pulled out the memories and photos of that long ago beach trip, and that blue Hawaiian shirt, which now hangs in my closet, and I've once again felt my heart break for the little boy I lost and my total inability to understand why.

Simultaneously, I've accepted that the tragedy of losing my son made this trip (and perhaps many more as we are already debating changes in sleeping arrangements and whether or not it would be worth the difference to have two rooms) happen. I'm not yet thankful for what it took, to change me, but I'm thankful for the change and hope that God can accept that as meeting Him halfway in accepting His plan.

I challenge you to do it, make the hard trip to make new memories and honor what you've lost. Carry their memory with you on a journey and recognize that it may be because of loss that you're taking it and that every smile and laugh along the way honors them. If you've not lost someone, take a minute and recognize that no matter how hard it is, no matter if it's only for a day or even a few hours, take the time to escape everyday life with the people you love. Find moments to treasure if it's in a hike up a nearby mountain, a road trip to a restaurant you've wanted to try, or a six-hour car ride to the beach. Do it now before it's too late to make that memory.

If you already do that, if your life has been blessed with those getaways and big memories without having a loss to drive them, then I envy you. Never stop.

Never let life get in the way, because one day death surely will.

Even When Focus is Hard, Happy Happens

It was one of those weeks that everyone expected would be tough. The week before Mother's Day and a time filled with cards, flowers, candy and plans for special meals.

Right up until Saturday, when I had to squash a momentary desire to stay home and avoid seeing the other families -- mainly because the girls might need me at church -- I thought it wasn't much to worry about. I had enjoyed a great week, indulging in my desire to bring home another convertible, whether or not anyone else ever rode in it, and enjoying my virtually baby free week.

The thought of those other families, those other moms with their arms around sons, of grown boys hugging mothers who had become the small one in the pair, hurt, I will admit. But the reality of Sunday turned out to be like so many family gatherings have been since Ethan's addiction meant he could not always be with us. There was a piece missing, but it's been missing so long that it wasn't too hard to go on.

And Sunday afternoon, after babies and their parents, and my mom and dad, had all gone home, after I encouraged my husband to go enjoy a few holes of golf because he hasn't had a chance all year, for a moment I felt the blues tugging at my heart, the desire to allow myself to wallow in what I didn't have instead of relish what I do have.

Instead, I grabbed my sunglasses and purse and hopped in my little topless car and spent nearly three hours riding the roads, listening to the radio, and reveling in the feel of the sun and wind on my face. While my little car may not be the convertible of every grandma's dreams, or even entirely random, I've found it is a consistent lift to my spirit to drive -- probably because I don't have to drive it unless I'm in the mood.

On top of the joy of winding through the gears on some of the winding roads, I went to town and hit the greenhouse where last year I loaded up for the garden that went nowhere (it was a horrible season) and finally bought most of the plants i was lacking for this growing season. And enjoyable outing, especially when the total wasn't nearly what it would have been at the large home improvement store where I had stopped to pay on my credit card, and I had the pleasure of watching the woman who owns the greenhouse planting cucumber seeds. Now this is down home growing and the next best thing to doign it myself.

The greenhouse visit also took me back when I stumbled across a small flowering maple on one of the tables, reminding me of one I had many years ago and lost to some plant malady. The small plant with its single flower joined my collection of herbs and garden plants, even after I saw several more showy versions on another table.

But my joy wasn't limited to Sunday afternoon, or a convertible, or greenhouse plants.

The baby was not in the best of moods Sunday, which normally would be a bad thing, but holding her through church service as she fell asleep in my arms helps ease the pain of what I was missing. She helped remind me to hold on to what I have and not miss the moments because of what I do not have.

On Saturday I went to shave down a Great Pyrenees that I've been shaving the past three springs. It's a back breaking, time sucking job, but the dog is a gentle giant and I had the chance to visit with his owner, who I've known since she was in high school and I worked with her mother. When I went in to clean up I saw the most beautiful miniature rose on her breakfast bar and when I came out I told her I adored it. She said it was for me, that she'd been thinking of me a lot and wanted to give me something for Mother's Day.

Earlier in the week the girls and I created my daughter's Mother's Day gift -- a painting made using baby feet prints to create flowers. Have you ever tried to paint a baby's feet? With acrylic paint? We were all laughing from the effort to keep her from touching her little feet as I tried to paint them yellow and transfer the paint to the canvas. The end result was worth the effort, although E1 did complain that E2 beat her to the color purple and she had to use pink.

Finally getting the "new" pool assembled and ready to start cleaning on today so that I can get it filled up ASAP. The temperatures have already climbed and I think we're more than ready to try out a bigger, better pool for at home family fun and beating the heat this summer.

I know that if you're grieving, this has been a tough week. I know when all the world is focused on one thing that we cannot bear to focus on, it makes the days that much tougher. I also know that by turning my attention to what I have, by not being held down by what is missing, the days can still be good and fun and full of joy.

Make happy happen. Look for joy because whatever you've lost, life is worth living happy.

Who Says You Can't Buy A Little Happy?

I'm going topless again.

Two years ago, with the third E on the way, I sold my convertible to make room for another car seat. It was a tough trade, but everywhere I went I had children for companions so there was not really an option. Since I didn't do much driving alone, there weren't a lot of times to suddenly miss it in the last two years either. Even though I had driven a convertible for about 7 or 8 years, I was doing OK without one.

Then the babies' momma took a 12-hour night shift with a rotating schedule so that while I may spend most of one week chauffeuring little people, the next week I hardly see them.

My convertible itch came back on every warm day, but I was convinced it was too late in the season to find a decent price and buy one. Still, I would randomly check CraigsList once a week or so, just to see if anything was both in my lower end price range and remotely what I wanted. Every time I met a convertible on the road with the top down while I was in my four-door SUV I felt the itch grow until it reached a fever.

I talked about it with my husband, who has a Harley and understands a desire for the wind. Even before I traded my ride two years ago, he had reminded me that it didn't have to be forever.

If I were terminally ill, I said, I'd go buy a convertible and run the wheels off of it.

Find one, he said. (Have I mentioned how wonderful he is?)

So, after discovering a car both in my price range and in my style range (we're talking cheap, five-speed and small, I wasn't particular) while perusing CraigsList Tuesday, I went for a test drive and fell in love with convertibles, and five speeds, all over again.

When he got off work I told him I wanted it. I hate that a purchase brings me some sense of joy, but at the same time the money in the bank isn't making me happy and I had the cash to pay for it. Money is meant to buy things we need and things that bring us pleasure, and after the hard work I put into earning the money, a bit of pleasure is surely in order. We went back to town with the money and I drove the little Miata home.

It was as much fun as I anticipated taking the back roads, feeling the wind and sun on my face and enjoying the thrill of winding through the gears on the curvy route. I was a bit surprised to find my husband in my rear view as I turned into the driveway -- although I'd been tempted to ride the roads, having not yet transferred a tag I had come directly albeit on sideroads home and still beat him.

No, I don't have the carport I promised myself I'd have before bringing home a convertible after dealing with leaks in my last one, but I do have another vehicle and this one can sit under a cover all winter if need be.

My psyche needed it now. My spirit craves the wind in my hair beneath a starlit sky, hopping out the shower for a quick blow dry with a trip down the road and back, the sun and the gears and the feeling of being alive.

The last five months have taught me that no one is promised tomorrow. That means cherishing those around me, but I've come to realize that includes me as well. If today is all I have, then I'll have it in a convertible -- low slung with racing suspension, tiny little door handles, and a chrome gear shift, all wrapped up in a matte orange color.

And as long as the sun shines and the temperature is between 70 and 90, I'll have it topless.