Every year, toward the end of July, I become nostalgic and a little depressed. In years past, I’d be gearing up for the scenic drive north to visit my parents in Brookings, Oregon – with my three children in tow and plans to arrive on Mom’s August 3 birthday. Mom always had a jar full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies and a big pot of stew waiting for us.
Dad’s health was always precarious, and he often stayed home to rest while Mom and I took the wild ones to the beaches to run off some steam. While they explored tide pools at Lone Ranch, or collected rocks and drift wood at Whaleshead, Mom and I sat and talked and talked… and talked.
There are still times when I reach for the phone and realize again – achingly – that she can’t pick up on the other end. I’ll have to wait until I get to Heaven to see her and Dad again.
I wonder if there will be beaches.