When Grief Shows Up At the Beach

My husband is a quiet, humble man; never quick to share what’s on his mind. It’s an eminence of his character that I fell in love with, but it also a trait that leaves me feeling isolated at times. So, when we were laying in the sand underneath the hot Florida sun while on vacation two weeks ago, I was caught off guard when he announced that he wished his sons were here with us. I laid there for a second trying to process those words. I didn’t have time to though because he quickly added to his declaration telling me that as he watched the dads playing catch with their sons on the beach it made him think of his boys, wishing it were him throwing the ball. Playing catch with his three boys would be a privilege that he would never get to experience. “It’s too bad, Rochelle,” he said as he stared off into the depths of the ocean. In that moment I fell silent. I couldn’t find the right words to ease the grief that had suddenly found him there on the beach. I didn’t tell him, but it found me there too. Everyday that we spent there it found me and washed over me like the roaring waves in the ocean.

It showed up as I watched women with beautiful, swollen bellies walking the shore as the waves crashed at their feet. It showed up when a family we met asked us if we were going to have more kids. It showed up as I watched my daughter playing in the sand – pondering the elaborate castles her and her brothers would be building if they were here with us.

I saw what my husband saw. He didn’t just see other dads teaching and playing with their sons. He saw monumental memories he should be making with his boys; ones that they would look back on for years to come. He saw moments that were stolen from him, ripped away and left to grieve for a lifetime. I looked at my husband for a moment and saw a side of him that I don’t see very often. It was like he removed his outer shell and exposed internal vulnerabilities that I didn’t know were there and suddenly I didn’t feel so isolated anymore. He looked back at me and we just sat there caught in each other’s gaze. I didn’t need to say anything because in that moment I knew that he felt my grief too.

Grief finds us everywhere we go. It’s in the third bedroom, across the hall from ours. Its in the standup basketball hoop out back and in the baby boy section at every retail store we go. Its in pregnancy announcements, the dining room table and in the backseat of the car. It finds us at the beach and in questions of unknowing strangers. Grief shows up so often that we stopped trying to tell it to leave. Over time, grief has become like an old friend always sure to check in and say hello. And over time, we have learned to greet our grief for the old friend that it is – a friend who reminds us to remember our baby boys. If we think of it that way, it doesn’t really hurt so bad.

Grief found us that day at the beach and reminded my husband and I to connect. It reminded us to let down our walls to really see each other. It reminded us to slow down and to hold on a little tighter to our time together. Most importantly, it reminded us to remember them – that even though they aren’t here with us, they are very much a part of us. Grief doesn’t always have to be a burden. Grief can be an old friend always reminding you to live your best life. That yes, you were once broken because of what you lost but you are here now, and you can do hard things.