For those who have visited the Cape, you know the peninsula is dotted with sand dunes and endless stretches of beach. There are crashing waves and mild kettle ponds, created by receding glaciers. We live on the Outer Cape, also known as the lower cape, in spite of the fact we have to drive up the Cape to get there. It is no wonder I am confused.
What does not confuse me is how much I adore the place.
I have been visiting Cape Cod since I was a kid. Running up and down the dunes, hiking the trails and swimming across ponds were a part of summer I took for granted. No more. I have written about that in this space and see no need to repeat myself. I think my tales of frustration have crossed the line into tedium.
It is time to get over it. What was was, and what is, is. I am a lucky guy. It has been a privilege to have this place. I sit on a bench overlooking a vast stretch of ocean that is timeless. I feel small there and lucky to be alive. Siblings, nieces and nephews and their children surround Meredith and me. How cool is that? Family dinners are festive, forever fun. Life is a series of cycles. How could my
Life not have changed? Maybe the more we have, the more we want. There can be an unintentional pull toward entitlement when we are denied perfection. That becomes a sorry state.
I may not have it all, but I am fortunate for all that is mine. Meredith asks if I mind if she goes jogging on the beach. I know she fears her run will make me feel bad. I look at her as if she has a screw loose. Please go, I say. My mother never left my father’s side when he was sidelined with MS. Please don’t become my mother, I say. She gave too much of her life looking after a man in a wheelchair instead of occasionally watching hundreds of seals diving for fish in the harbor. I am fine. I miss a life I once loved, but I do not feel sorry for myself.
Life is good.