Talking to my Dead Father on Will Rogers Beach
We had just returned from a day at The Harry Potter Wizarding World at Universal Studios. I was tired and sank into the hotel bed for a good tuck-in. T went exploring. She returned a few hours later and suggested that we go down to the lobby to check out the computers to find a beach or two or three to visit the next day.
There were so many to choose from. A helpful concierge had given us a list of public beaches within a 3 hour radius and indicated which were the least likely to be crowded. We honed in on those. My eye immediately went to Will Rogers Beach. My father had been a huge fan of Will Rogers. I was a huge fan of my father.
It seemed perfect. With only a small building housing public restrooms and one lifeguard, it had little to offer besides the ocean and a large amount of rocks. Other beaches, like Santa Monica and Manhattan came complete with restaurants, ferris wheels and games.
Will Rogers Beach seemed perfect. We set out the next morning. Just walking outside was intoxicating. The temperature was in the high 50's and the sun was nearly blinding. We were off. The concierge had warned us that the ride to the beach would be extremely twisty. It was. We loved it. The scenery was lush...hilly and green. We drove through a few cities and were tempted to stop and visit one of the many places with PSYCHIC READINGS HERE. I decided not to stop. I knew my fate. And I just wanted to have some fun today.
And then I heard T gasp and I looked over at her. The ocean had popped up outside the driver's side window. And boy howdy, it was showing off, as Will Rogers would have said. It was almost enough to take one's breath away.
Sparkling, effervescent water. Blue, all patinas of blue from navy to aqua. White, churning waves blowing up like cool lava only to fling itself on to golden sand. The sky above was such a blue that there was no word to describe it. I thought hard. Maybe, true blue? No bullshit blue? Bring-it-on-home blue?
As we got closer, the ocean was everywhere. We rolled down the windows and you could hear it pounding and twisting. We passed through Topanga and thought about stopping. So many little shops selling everything you could imagine.
Again, I said no. I could feel my soul aching to be ON that beach. I wanted to be as close as I could get. The sun had warmed the air to the high 60's. Winter coat weather for the natives. Light sweater weather for us. Even no sweater weather. I was wearing a turtleneck shirt and felt no need of a sweater. I was comfortable in my capri pants.
We found Will Rogers Beach easily. There was one other car in the vast parking lot. We got out of the car and hatched a plan. I didn't have a lot of stamina to play with, but I did have inclination. Our wheelchair would be useless on that silky, silty sand. T pointed to a series of black and gray rocks close to the ocean, but not close enough to be wet with spray from it.
"Can you make it there?"
I was very sure that I could. We linked arms and began our journey. It was harder than I thought it would be. Navigating the sand, even barefoot, proved to be difficult for me. My balance was iffy. I held tightly to T's arm. We got to the rocks and I plopped down on one that looked as if it had a comfy little sitting space just for me. Several curious seagulls hovered near, obviously used to being fed.
"Are you okay here if I go for a short walk?" T asked. I assured her that I was. We had only seen five other people: an Asian family strolling along the beach, running towards the waves and then retreating, laughing....as the waves came after them. T left and soon was a small paper doll along the beach. How nice it must have felt to her to be unburdened of her human cargo.
I sat on that rock and let the sun soak into me. I felt the top of my head. It was as warm as a cinnamon bun right out of the oven. I thought briefly of the warning on my chemo meds to refrain from long periods in the sunlight and then let it go. I did not wish to put on my hat. I knew this body and it wanted the sun. No. It didn't want the sun. It desperately needed the sun. I tried to wiggle my stiff toes in the gritty sand and was pleased when they obliged. Some days, toe wiggling is out of the question.
I wiggled but good.
It was then that I felt him. Dad.
This is hard to describe. Anyone who has lost a loved one, especially a parent, knows what this feels like. And it is personal, different for everyone. We all do it in times of pain, of stress. Sometimes in times of great joy. We reach out. And yet, when someone tells us that they felt the presence of their dead loved one, we tend to scoff a bit, don't we? I am just as guilty of it as anyone. I have a friend who swears that her dead brother comes to her as a bluejay.
"He was at the feeder again this morning, just saying hello!" she will say.
I will nod and smile and think to myself that I saw FOUR bluejays at MY feeder that morning. I wonder who they were?
Petty? Probably. I think sometimes that we need to believe what we need to believe. And that when it is us, it is somehow more believable than when it is them.
I often talk to my father. He has been dead for 50 years now. My mother? Not so much. But, then....I wasn't really inclined to talk to her when she was alive, why would I talk to her now? Besides, I think that my sisters keep her plenty busy.
This felt somehow different...when I was sitting on that rock at the beach. I didn't choke up, I didn't feel tears start behind my eyes the way I usually do. No. I felt...a sense of calm. Peace. Deep warmth.
I could smell him. That tobacco, Lava soap, Aqua Velva, wood shavings smell.
He didn't appear to me, although I honestly don't think it would have frightened me if he had. I just felt him. And I heard him in my head as clear as a bell.
"Hello there, kiddo."
I smiled. Hi, yourself. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in West Virginia?
That soft laughter. His laughter. "I go there sometimes. Sometimes Paris. Sometimes the moon."
He began to sing,
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on
Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand......
"I used to sing that to you when you were a baby."
We used to sing that in the car together, I told him.
"Yes. You were my chore buddy. And you would tell me your stories."
The Adventures of Me and Dad.
"There was always a dragon."
And you always stepped in and slayed it.
"That's what fathers are supposed to do."
So...you feel like slaying another one for me?
"Sorry, kiddo. This one is fate. Can't slay fate, kiddo. But, I'm right here. Your mother is right here. Your grandmother is right here. She wants to meet you. We're all so proud of you. Our girl. Our brave girl."
Don't let me get lost. Please don't let me get lost.
"We're right here. Two hops and three jumps. I'll catch you, kiddo. I'll catch you. This sun feels purty darn good, dontcha think?"
Yes.
I sat quietly, eyes closed. I felt him leave like smoke, like a dream. I thought about telling T. I would tell her. Later. For now, I would hold it close to me. I would put it in the blog later, for the kids to take a look at. They are believers, too. It is important to have people in your life who are believers.
I sat on the rock and watched the surf tickle at my feet. I closed my eyes and thought hard.
How do I know that you were really here? Can you give me a sign? How about a nice big wave? I'm feeling some small ones. You call those waves?
I waited. Nothing. Forgot about it. I knew in my heart that he had been here. I stood up and stretched out my hamstrings, got busy doing my anti blood clot exercises that Dr. S had taught me. Suddenly, a huge wave came up and nearly knocked me over, soaking me up to my waist.
I looked up at the sky and laughed. Was this my bluejay?
T came back after nearly two hours. Apologetic. She lost track of time. It just felt so good to walk next to the ocean. I told her that I was fine.
"My GOD, you are all wet!" she exclaimed.
Not wet, I told her. Damp. There is a big difference. Two hours ago, I was wet. I was now merely damp. And I was just fine.
We decided to go get me changed into the extra pants I had brought and then go on to Malibu beach. I felt strong enough and it was still early.
T leered at me. "I think we need to do some serious kissing on Malibu beach," she told me.
I agreed. If we were going to engage in that shit, California was the safest place on earth to be. Except for maybe Key West. We had seen a homemade sign just outside the Will Rogers marker for the beach.
It had said:
We don't care what your gender identity is or your sexual preference. We don't care what religion you practice, if any. We only ask that you leave all places as clean as you found them. Be kind to the animals. This is California.
We would go on to Malibu. We would not engage in serious kissing but we would stay locked in each other's arms for a very long time, grateful for the other.
It will go down as one of my favorite days.
There were so many to choose from. A helpful concierge had given us a list of public beaches within a 3 hour radius and indicated which were the least likely to be crowded. We honed in on those. My eye immediately went to Will Rogers Beach. My father had been a huge fan of Will Rogers. I was a huge fan of my father.
It seemed perfect. With only a small building housing public restrooms and one lifeguard, it had little to offer besides the ocean and a large amount of rocks. Other beaches, like Santa Monica and Manhattan came complete with restaurants, ferris wheels and games.
Will Rogers Beach seemed perfect. We set out the next morning. Just walking outside was intoxicating. The temperature was in the high 50's and the sun was nearly blinding. We were off. The concierge had warned us that the ride to the beach would be extremely twisty. It was. We loved it. The scenery was lush...hilly and green. We drove through a few cities and were tempted to stop and visit one of the many places with PSYCHIC READINGS HERE. I decided not to stop. I knew my fate. And I just wanted to have some fun today.
And then I heard T gasp and I looked over at her. The ocean had popped up outside the driver's side window. And boy howdy, it was showing off, as Will Rogers would have said. It was almost enough to take one's breath away.
Sparkling, effervescent water. Blue, all patinas of blue from navy to aqua. White, churning waves blowing up like cool lava only to fling itself on to golden sand. The sky above was such a blue that there was no word to describe it. I thought hard. Maybe, true blue? No bullshit blue? Bring-it-on-home blue?
As we got closer, the ocean was everywhere. We rolled down the windows and you could hear it pounding and twisting. We passed through Topanga and thought about stopping. So many little shops selling everything you could imagine.
Again, I said no. I could feel my soul aching to be ON that beach. I wanted to be as close as I could get. The sun had warmed the air to the high 60's. Winter coat weather for the natives. Light sweater weather for us. Even no sweater weather. I was wearing a turtleneck shirt and felt no need of a sweater. I was comfortable in my capri pants.
We found Will Rogers Beach easily. There was one other car in the vast parking lot. We got out of the car and hatched a plan. I didn't have a lot of stamina to play with, but I did have inclination. Our wheelchair would be useless on that silky, silty sand. T pointed to a series of black and gray rocks close to the ocean, but not close enough to be wet with spray from it.
"Can you make it there?"
I was very sure that I could. We linked arms and began our journey. It was harder than I thought it would be. Navigating the sand, even barefoot, proved to be difficult for me. My balance was iffy. I held tightly to T's arm. We got to the rocks and I plopped down on one that looked as if it had a comfy little sitting space just for me. Several curious seagulls hovered near, obviously used to being fed.
"Are you okay here if I go for a short walk?" T asked. I assured her that I was. We had only seen five other people: an Asian family strolling along the beach, running towards the waves and then retreating, laughing....as the waves came after them. T left and soon was a small paper doll along the beach. How nice it must have felt to her to be unburdened of her human cargo.
I sat on that rock and let the sun soak into me. I felt the top of my head. It was as warm as a cinnamon bun right out of the oven. I thought briefly of the warning on my chemo meds to refrain from long periods in the sunlight and then let it go. I did not wish to put on my hat. I knew this body and it wanted the sun. No. It didn't want the sun. It desperately needed the sun. I tried to wiggle my stiff toes in the gritty sand and was pleased when they obliged. Some days, toe wiggling is out of the question.
I wiggled but good.
It was then that I felt him. Dad.
This is hard to describe. Anyone who has lost a loved one, especially a parent, knows what this feels like. And it is personal, different for everyone. We all do it in times of pain, of stress. Sometimes in times of great joy. We reach out. And yet, when someone tells us that they felt the presence of their dead loved one, we tend to scoff a bit, don't we? I am just as guilty of it as anyone. I have a friend who swears that her dead brother comes to her as a bluejay.
"He was at the feeder again this morning, just saying hello!" she will say.
I will nod and smile and think to myself that I saw FOUR bluejays at MY feeder that morning. I wonder who they were?
Petty? Probably. I think sometimes that we need to believe what we need to believe. And that when it is us, it is somehow more believable than when it is them.
I often talk to my father. He has been dead for 50 years now. My mother? Not so much. But, then....I wasn't really inclined to talk to her when she was alive, why would I talk to her now? Besides, I think that my sisters keep her plenty busy.
This felt somehow different...when I was sitting on that rock at the beach. I didn't choke up, I didn't feel tears start behind my eyes the way I usually do. No. I felt...a sense of calm. Peace. Deep warmth.
I could smell him. That tobacco, Lava soap, Aqua Velva, wood shavings smell.
He didn't appear to me, although I honestly don't think it would have frightened me if he had. I just felt him. And I heard him in my head as clear as a bell.
"Hello there, kiddo."
I smiled. Hi, yourself. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in West Virginia?
That soft laughter. His laughter. "I go there sometimes. Sometimes Paris. Sometimes the moon."
He began to sing,
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on
Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand......
"I used to sing that to you when you were a baby."
We used to sing that in the car together, I told him.
"Yes. You were my chore buddy. And you would tell me your stories."
The Adventures of Me and Dad.
"There was always a dragon."
And you always stepped in and slayed it.
"That's what fathers are supposed to do."
So...you feel like slaying another one for me?
"Sorry, kiddo. This one is fate. Can't slay fate, kiddo. But, I'm right here. Your mother is right here. Your grandmother is right here. She wants to meet you. We're all so proud of you. Our girl. Our brave girl."
Don't let me get lost. Please don't let me get lost.
"We're right here. Two hops and three jumps. I'll catch you, kiddo. I'll catch you. This sun feels purty darn good, dontcha think?"
Yes.
I sat quietly, eyes closed. I felt him leave like smoke, like a dream. I thought about telling T. I would tell her. Later. For now, I would hold it close to me. I would put it in the blog later, for the kids to take a look at. They are believers, too. It is important to have people in your life who are believers.
I sat on the rock and watched the surf tickle at my feet. I closed my eyes and thought hard.
How do I know that you were really here? Can you give me a sign? How about a nice big wave? I'm feeling some small ones. You call those waves?
I waited. Nothing. Forgot about it. I knew in my heart that he had been here. I stood up and stretched out my hamstrings, got busy doing my anti blood clot exercises that Dr. S had taught me. Suddenly, a huge wave came up and nearly knocked me over, soaking me up to my waist.
I looked up at the sky and laughed. Was this my bluejay?
T came back after nearly two hours. Apologetic. She lost track of time. It just felt so good to walk next to the ocean. I told her that I was fine.
"My GOD, you are all wet!" she exclaimed.
Not wet, I told her. Damp. There is a big difference. Two hours ago, I was wet. I was now merely damp. And I was just fine.
We decided to go get me changed into the extra pants I had brought and then go on to Malibu beach. I felt strong enough and it was still early.
T leered at me. "I think we need to do some serious kissing on Malibu beach," she told me.
I agreed. If we were going to engage in that shit, California was the safest place on earth to be. Except for maybe Key West. We had seen a homemade sign just outside the Will Rogers marker for the beach.
It had said:
We don't care what your gender identity is or your sexual preference. We don't care what religion you practice, if any. We only ask that you leave all places as clean as you found them. Be kind to the animals. This is California.
We would go on to Malibu. We would not engage in serious kissing but we would stay locked in each other's arms for a very long time, grateful for the other.
It will go down as one of my favorite days.
Comments
Post a Comment