Footprints
When I was a little girl, my family would go to the beach once a year. It was a day that always ended with my parents arguing, us kids shoved into the back seat, sand between our toes.
It was so bittersweet.
When I was about 7, I walked down the beach alone. And after about a mile or so, I turned and realized that I was completely and utterly lost. But I didn't panic, because my footprints remained, and all I had to do was follow them to get back to my parents, and my brothers.
To get back to those I loved. To home.
One summer, I sat on a small strip of sand and declared it my very own beach. I was sure my footprints were the first to tread it. I loved that place. I loved every bit of it. I loved how it opened into the bay, how the waves lapped the sand, how I could sit and dip my toes in and read in the sunshine. It wasn't far from Tilghman. I could walk to it from where I was.
And it was a long, deep held secret for me. This was my paradise. I wasn't sure who to trust with it.
Finally, I thought I fell in love. I took Jim there. I let him walk all over my sand. I let his footprints cover my own. It wasn't just mine then; it was ours. We loved it. It became a familiar haunt for us.
Now it just holds empty promises and bittersweet memories.
Last October, my oldest and sweetest friend sat with me on his front porch and told me that he was dying. He had never been outside of Maryland, hell he had never set a foot on the bay bridge, but he said that was okay. He said his footprints were all over the shore, under every rock and across nearly every blade of grass. He had walked the shoreline, swam the rivers, fished the bay, and he said he had lived a good life. Knowing that his footprints would outlive him, knowing that he'd have the memories until the very end, brought him comfort.
He died 2 weeks later.
Footprints mean so many things to me. They symbolize the past, and the ability to go back to where you started (home). They symbolize love, and trust, and something I love more than most anything: the beach.
And above all, footprints remind me of Jack. They remind of all of the people I've lost recently. Jack was my role model, and I want nothing more than to walk in his footprints and be at least half of the honest, decent person that he was. He taught me so much about life, and lately, I've been so bitter. I've been acting like I have nothing, like I've lost it all. And it isn't true.
I have a family that would defend me no matter what, wonderful friends, and a boyfriend who puts up with me even when I don't deserve to be put up with. I have a future, and my health, and faith. I have a lot of things to be thankful for, and I'd lost sight of that.
You can bet it won't happen again.
^ *Taken 10/4/09 where my dad used to work.* ^
It was so bittersweet.
When I was about 7, I walked down the beach alone. And after about a mile or so, I turned and realized that I was completely and utterly lost. But I didn't panic, because my footprints remained, and all I had to do was follow them to get back to my parents, and my brothers.
To get back to those I loved. To home.
One summer, I sat on a small strip of sand and declared it my very own beach. I was sure my footprints were the first to tread it. I loved that place. I loved every bit of it. I loved how it opened into the bay, how the waves lapped the sand, how I could sit and dip my toes in and read in the sunshine. It wasn't far from Tilghman. I could walk to it from where I was.
And it was a long, deep held secret for me. This was my paradise. I wasn't sure who to trust with it.
Finally, I thought I fell in love. I took Jim there. I let him walk all over my sand. I let his footprints cover my own. It wasn't just mine then; it was ours. We loved it. It became a familiar haunt for us.
Now it just holds empty promises and bittersweet memories.
Last October, my oldest and sweetest friend sat with me on his front porch and told me that he was dying. He had never been outside of Maryland, hell he had never set a foot on the bay bridge, but he said that was okay. He said his footprints were all over the shore, under every rock and across nearly every blade of grass. He had walked the shoreline, swam the rivers, fished the bay, and he said he had lived a good life. Knowing that his footprints would outlive him, knowing that he'd have the memories until the very end, brought him comfort.
He died 2 weeks later.
Footprints mean so many things to me. They symbolize the past, and the ability to go back to where you started (home). They symbolize love, and trust, and something I love more than most anything: the beach.
And above all, footprints remind me of Jack. They remind of all of the people I've lost recently. Jack was my role model, and I want nothing more than to walk in his footprints and be at least half of the honest, decent person that he was. He taught me so much about life, and lately, I've been so bitter. I've been acting like I have nothing, like I've lost it all. And it isn't true.
I have a family that would defend me no matter what, wonderful friends, and a boyfriend who puts up with me even when I don't deserve to be put up with. I have a future, and my health, and faith. I have a lot of things to be thankful for, and I'd lost sight of that.
You can bet it won't happen again.
^ *Taken 10/4/09 where my dad used to work.* ^