Things to Come

Despite everything, we’ve made it to the beach. 

This has been Piper’s fondest dream since Covid started.  We had to cancel two other beach vacations during these months and it’s crushed her. She has told us that the sun and the water and the sky and the smells and the sounds of the ocean—it feeds her soul.  Throughout these months, she has done so well: her grades have, if anything, gone up; she’s exercising; eating well; and generally pretty happy despite the million and one changes she’s had to deal with on a daily basis.  But every once and a while, this cloud will hover over her; she is quiet and reserved and won’t talk to us.  

I hate those moments as a mama—I know that they mean she is deeply unhappy.  

So when she begged us, after our third trip was cancelled, to please, even if it’s just for a few days, find us a place by the beach (she didn’t care if it was a shack—her words), could we please please please make it happen?  I said yes.

Of course, being the slightly pessimistic mama that I am, I also said, “You know that we won’t be able to find last minute rentals in San Diego over fall break, right?  Especially during Covid when everyone wants out and water and sun and beach?”  She nodded and told me to look anyway.

I did.  Without much hope. We had to cancel our last trip because there was literally no where (that we could afford) to rent.  Piper told me, as I was doing said research and finding almost nothing, look one more time.  Maybe, just maybe, things have changed.  Who knows, she said, something might have opened up.

Darned if she wasn’t right.

And it’s better than she dreamed.  

Our little Airbnb sits on the second level right above the cliffs of the ocean.  We have two massive sliding glass doors that give us a view of the ocean forever.  We sleep with the sound of the crashing waves.  The air is perfumed by salt and sea and eucalyptus.  Our skin is lotioned by the air and our throats are soothed by the humidity.  Added to that, it looks like all her siblings will be joining us at one point or the other, her dearest wish of all.

Sometimes, you get what you want.

Not often, especially now, but sometimes the stars align, the t’s all get crossed and the i’s dotted and miracles happen.

Seven months ago, I could not imagine the life we live now, in this Covid  world of ours.  

I wouldn’t have wanted to.  It seems so impossible and dreadful.  But we are living in it.  Everything we thought was ours by right—travel, flying on airplanes, eating out, shopping, going to school, church, plays, weddings, and a thousand other things—aren’t rights at all.  They are icing on the cake.  They are the butter and jam to the bread of life.  

And we miss them.  I miss them.  Especially the travel, the trips, the family and the adventures—that feeds my soul.

But I am glad (very begrudgingly) for these crazy months.  I know, never thought I’d write those words, but it’s true.  I am glad that I have been reminded that I don’t own the future.  It can change on a whim.  Nothing is sure or settled.  It’s always changing.  Covid has taught us everything that can be taken away and everything that can’t.  

I know it’s cheesy, but that t-shirt and meme phrase that “love isn’t cancelled,” is truth.  

And you know what else isn’t cancelled?

The future.

That’s what I am grateful for in this pandemic, it’s taught me to look to the future.  No, not yearn for it and live for the days when everything goes back to normal, but to believe there is a future.  To believe that just as I could have never imagined how horrible these past few months have been (and thankfully they haven’t been half as bad as I worried they’d be), I also can’t imagine how beautiful the future might be.

Despite everything, Piper’s dream vacation happened.  Honestly, I’ve been a bit of a Debbie Downer, poo pooing the idea that anything good can happen during Covid.  But I, as often is the case, was dead wrong.

I’ve gotten a bit of a spanking—and I deserve it.  I’ve forgotten that good things do happen.  They are happening.  

Silly, silly me.

We don’t know the things to come.  We probably don’t really want to.  

But I really and truly believe, despite everything, and being proving this about twenty billion times during these months, wonderful things are ahead: Peace, equality, love, joy, and hope.  

I know, it takes a little slap in the face, but sitting on this beach front porch, I’m reminded that the future is bright, good things are ahead.  Don’t just hold on, like I’ve been doing.  Be like Piper and look for good things to come.  Make them, as much as possible, happen.  Believe they can happen.

Because the universe likes to even itself out, I believe this.  Just as surely as bad things are coming (and have come)—good things are coming.

You just maybe have to take some action and throw in some Piper-esque faith. 

It’s hard.  It may seem impossible, but who knows, it might just bring you a beach vacation or a visit with family you’ve missed or a weenie roast with laughter and cousins (another Piper miracle she instigated) or a book written (my hope), or babies where you thought none would be (another hope), or two for the price of one (true happening)—there are like a billion amazing things that could happen if we set our gazes that direction.  

Sure, sure, it doesn’t always happen.  I know.  But why not try?  What do you have to lose?  Really, what does it cost us? Nothing.  We all get over disappointment eventually, but just think of what could happen if you succeeded?  

Think—toes in sand, waves crashing, seagulls (ok, not seagulls, they’re horrid), birds floating overhead, and days of nothing but water—that (or anything you dream of) could happen if you tried.

Piper, you brilliant sixteen year old, thank you for reminding me to try.  To dare to hope and dream and take a risk.  Thank you for reminding me to have faith in the future.

And now, I’m off to let the ocean tickle my toes and watch big huge birds, I have no idea the name of, float effortlessly over the water, and surfers catch the perfect wave, and marvel that life gave me (thank you, Piper) this little reprieve.  And maybe say a little prayer of thanks for this reminder of joy and hope in the good to come . . .