For Mother’s Day, the hubs gifted me a trip. A weekend getaway. And I. Was. Ecstatic. Even more ecstatic to hear that he got a slammin’ deal on the flights and car. Even more more ecstatic because I knew this getaway included seeing two of my favorite people, my Aunt D and Uncle H.
First, my Aunt D and I have been compared to one another often in life. She is a spitfire. A spunky chick. And her wit is impeccable. Don’t mind being compared to her one bit. Second, my Uncle H, he’s the one who I have mentioned a few times for sending me two cards every single week since diagnosis. Even though he travels all around the US and they live in Florida, he took a wee bit of time to send me two cards a week. Always birthday cards. Always hilarious. Always in Uncle H’s amazing handwriting.
So, we would go wheels up two and a half weeks post-rads. Because the hubs knew. He knew that then, I would have some sun clearance. He knew that my soul needed the sand and sea. I’m that type of person. The type of person whose body craves places… like the mountains, or the beach. Like it feels deprived without it. And as I went through treatment, I was never well enough — my immunity was never good enough — for me to travel. So, when that was my Mother’s Day gift, it was a beacon. The light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.
So last Thursday, we said goodbye to our trio as grandma and grandpa B picked them up for the weekend and we headed to the airport. And it felt weird. As I mentioned in my recent post, the first time, it really did feel like the first time… that I had to leave the kids, that I had to fly, that I had to go security, that I travelled without a single bra. It was like I was seeing everything through my cancer-spectacles. And so, I was a wee bit fearful. And yet, as excited as a child to smell the ocean.
And it was everything I needed. Everything my body needed to say, “that chapter has turned. a new chapter is beginning. And here it is.”
We arrived late, to my favorite couch — it’s so worn in… it’s cold when you’re warm… it invites you in — in the world that sits in the backhouse at my aunt and uncle’s.
And then, we woke up late morning to head to the beach… and soak up the sunshine.
We slept late. We had happy hour. We laid on the beach. I slept on the beach. We sat in the ocean.
The ocean. It was more incredible than I’ve ever noticed. I’ve always loved the sound of the waves. The blue of the sky. The sand beneath my hands as I place them behind me to hold me up. But there was something different this time.
In the past, I used to look at the ocean and have a small bit of agoraphobia. Because it was so big. And so endless. And just melted into the sky.
And now, I looked at it and thought, there are a million things so much bigger than me and they survive. In fact, the ocean gets knocked down by itself, time after time, every single day… and yet, it keeps. on. going. And instead of the vastness seeming a bit overwhelming, I felt it to be comforting. Just like the endlessness of the ocean, so are the possibilities for our lives.
And the saltwater. It truly felt like it had healing powers. To patch the areas of my heart that have been bruised by the reality that life is short. To patch the areas of my mind that were anxious or fearful about cancer returning. Or having to go through treatment again. To patch the areas of my soul that feel a bit of survivor’s guilt, why do I get to stay but a 2 year old boy doesn’t.
We spent time with Aunt D and Uncle H, which also had healing powers. Conversations about everything under the sun. Over a meal with wine. Late night walking to the beach.
And me, eating Cake by the Ocean, for my friend, Sarah.
Because we have family there, I’ve been to Florida a few times. But this was the first time that I hoped to not soak up the sun but instead, soak up the vibe. I stayed very covered up whenever we were on the beach — zinc, a sun hat, a rash guard top, an umbrella — following protocol from my Rad Onc, Dr. Wahl.
And though we were only there for two and a half days, it was just the right amount of getaway. My second time leaving the state since treatment diagnosis in September {the first was to Iowa the weekend prior}. It was a nice way to celebrate with Adam and have no schedule, no demands, no one needing a thing. And not feeling one bit guilty about that.
We have other travels planned for the upcoming months. We’re taking the boys on the “Great Brehm Roadtrip of 2016” and in the fall, we are thrilled to have a trip with free room and board to North Carolina through an incredible Survivor program, Little Pink Houses of Hope.
But this, this will always be the first. Our first dip of our toes in the waters of life post-cancer. Post-havoc. The sunshine after the storm. And I hope I never forget the magnificence of seeing the ocean for the first time at age 34. Or at least seeing it differently than I’ve ever known it to be before.
Thank you to Aunt D and Uncle H for being such gracious hosts and for letting us find a fresh start with a walk on the ocean.
