Ocean memorial

“Staring at the sea, will she come

Is there hope for me after all is said and done

Anything at any price

all of this for you

all the spoils of a wasted life

all of this for you…”

—-The Great Below

My Mondays and Wednesdays are a pretty strict routine: alarm goes off at 5:30, snooze for another 15-30 minutes, then out the door with Data for a short potty walk/constitutional in the deep dark of the early morning. Back inside for both his and my breakfast, shower, then I’m generally out the door at 7:00AM, the sun making its early presence known as it pierces the horizon. I usually have about half an hour of tweaking my lesson plan before my class starts, running from 8-10. I use that break for office hours and just to generally answer emails and do a bit of writing until my next class at noon, then its wrap-up around 2. I’ll head home to an eagerly awaiting Data, who first peaks through the blinds as I get out of my car, then is wagging his tail crazily once I head inside my apartment where he gives his patented little pittie “snarl” that shows how happy he is to see me. Usually, I’ll change and we head to the local park or out for a long walk where sometimes I’ll take pics and eventually we stop at the local pet store for his requisite treat. By this point it’s about 5pm, so we head back so I can make “us” dinner; we both eat, I’ll clean up, then sit down at my laptop for another hour or so to write, lesson plan, grade, or just bullshit online. Then it’s off to bed to wind down for a well deserved sleep.

Only this past Monday, October 13th was different. The morning and early afternoon routine was the same, but the back of my head was occupied the whole time and when I got home, instead of going to the park or for a walk, I decided to take Data to the dog beach. I needed to be near the ocean on that day because it was exactly 2 years ago that my heart shattered.

I was supposed to be sleep deprived. Constantly following a 2 year-old whose feet don’t stop moving. I should be talking to my (now ex) wife about diapers, formula and/or bottles, bedtime, what books we’re reading at night, sleep schedules. We should be planning on who we’re visiting for the holidays or (more likely) who’s coming to visit us for Christmas. We should be planning doctors appointments and looking ahead at things like daycare, scheduling playtime, vaccines. We should be realizing this dream we both had of being worried, stressed, but happy to have a little one who occupies so much of our time, our minds, and our hearts. That’s what was supposed to happen.

Instead, I was at the beach sitting with my dog and watching the tide come in on a gray day. It felt fitting to memorialize this painful but beautiful anniversary. It’s an experience that profoundly affected both myself and Ashley, though in different ways. It’s something that I would never wish on anyone, yet there’s a bizarre comfort I take in having been through it. And though we’re divorced and living separate lives, it’s a bond we’ll share forever.

So I sat and breathed in the salty air and closed my eyes and listened to the waves, sending out a silent prayer to what once was.

It still hurts because it still matters.

“All the world has closed her eyes

tired faith all worn and thin

for all we could have done

and all that could have been…”