Beach, Bridges and Being One Year Out.

The vacationing family returns….  We had a fantastic time at the beach.  A few tarballs, a couple of hours of oily water, one full day of rain.  Otherwise, a wonderful week of family and fun.

We’ve gone to Gulf Shores at least once a year for several years now.  Last year, shortly after the divorce was final, I took the kids there for a week and quickly realized my miscalculation.  Being there in our “family” place, where memories of past vacations shadowed every activity, didn’t make for the most relaxing or happiest of getaways.  We all tried really hard, but it was just a sad week.  The kids missed their dad and felt his absence; they wanted him there to do the things they had always done.  I missed him, too, and seeing vacationing families everywhere I turned was like rubbing salt in the wound.  My family looked different, and I wanted it to look the same.

What a difference a year makes!

This year, I was perfectly fine with the way my family looked.  The kids talked to their dad each night but never missed him or said they wished he were there with us.  They laughed and played and together we created new memories and new traditions.  No one was sad.  They, like I, have adjusted.  This is our new normal and our new normal is great.

As always, Amelia charmed the pants off of everyone.  She was her usual happy, easy-going self.  My parents, her siblings, my sister, our babysitter and me (her lucky, lucky mama) just fell more hopelessly in love with her every day.  This year, for the first time, she was fearless at the beach.  She dug in the sand and felt the pull of the tide and loved the ocean and the pool and the seashells.  We slapped a pair of floaties on that girl and she braved the waves with the best of ‘em.

Owen bonded with my dad in a way he hadn’t done before.  They had long, long talks on the balcony and down on the beach.  They interviewed each other and Owen asked Pop things like, “What was your favorite toy when you were 4?” “Who was your best friend in second grade?” “What was your favorite DVD when you were 5? … ok then, VHS? … You mean you only had movies in the movie theater?!”   At the end of each talk, Owen would tell my dad, “You know, we really should do this again sometime.”  Owen announced that since Pop was allergic to cheese, so was he.  They became buddies, and their new connection just filled me to bursting with happiness and gratitude.

Avery and Owen were little surfer kids, sans surfboards.  They rode and jumped waves for hours on end, following my safety instructions on undertow and shoreline position.

They swam impromptu in their clothes at sunset.  They went apeshit crazy (as per usual) at The Hangout and Lulu’s.

We buried each other in the sand.   We tried unsuccessfully to fly a crappy kite.  We played football on the beach.  We ate wayyyyyyy too much fried seafood.

On the (very very long and very very frustrating 11+ hour) drive home, as we crossed from Mississippi into Louisiana, I experienced an odd moment of clarity.  We were driving along I20 and as we crossed the fantastic Vicksburg Bridge, I felt overwhelmingly that everything was just right.

I love this bridge; I always have.  I love the fact that it spans the Mighty Mississippi of history and legend and literature.  I love that it’s a cantilever bridge and flies the American flag on top.  I love that the state line exists in limbo out there over the water in the center of the bridge, and that you cross from one place of terra firma to another while suspended over a river that flows, always.  I love that the New Vicksburg Bridge runs four lanes of inter- and intra-state traffic right next to the Old Vicksburg Bridge running a single still-functioning railroad lane.  I love that while their architecture looks so very much alike, their age and color stand in stark contrast to one another.  I love how the new coexists alongside the old, the past alongside the present … both good, both useful, both serving their purpose, both beautiful.

It made me think about the changes of the past year and of how the kids and I have progressed from sad to happy, from empty to full, from fractured to whole.  From old to new, just like the bridges … both valid ways of getting across the river, but different in appearance and means of travel.  Crossing that bridge made me feel peaceful and strong and forward-looking.  This week brings a lot of changes and a final set of anniversaries.  I’m ready.