It’s been two weeks since my last post. Been a little busy with “life stuff”. Have an issue with my right eye that sometimes causes these little wormy-looking floaters that completely block my line of sight. Will likely take several months to get better. Doc says it’s just one of those things that comes with “getting older”.

Just freakin’ fabulous. Anyway, I’m back.

Today, someone very special to me commented on how much he liked this photo. Interesting thing is, it was taken exactly two years ago today. I have it sitting in my living room area in a place where I can always see it.

Initially, I told him that I felt a bit “egotistical” for even having it there, but the more I thought about it, that picture needed to be there. As a reminder of things.

The morning this photograph was taken, about 6:30am, I woke up, quietly threw on my hoodie and favorite jeans, tiptoed out the door of the quaint little waterfront cottage, and made my way to the end of the dock. It was a “Taylor Family Girls’ Weekend” at White Lake, NC. The light from the one telephone pole at the land-side of the dock kept me from breaking my neck – initially, it was still dark, except for the twinkling lights of the houses across the lake. There was a slight breeze – surprisingly warm for the first of October – which caused little rhythmic lapping sounds of the waves reaching the shoreline. I found myself walking in time with them, almost meditative-like.

I made it to the end of the dock without stubbing my toes or stepping on something mysteriously squishy and sat down, resting my back on one of the posts. By this time, the faintest orangey-pink line had begun to appear across the horizon, so I got up, readied my camera on the stand, set the timer for ten seconds, and pushed the button. How I made it appear that I had been sitting there calmly for hours is beyond me – I had to run about twelve feet and plop down without losing my balance and falling into the water. After three or four attempts, I finally captured it.

I looked back to the cottage. No movement inside. Perfect. Now, I could sit and enjoy the sunrise… all to myself. It would likely be a while before any of my aunties or cousins would be up and moving – the night before was full of food, reminiscing… and maybe a little too much wine. My aunties were filled with stories about the summers at the Goldston’s Beach Pavilion, dancing and finding “summer romances”, and arguing over the name and hair color of “that guy who danced the best”.

As I watched the lake slowly appear in the sunlight, I thought about the significance of the weekend. White Lake had been a regular family destination since my mother and her three sisters were little. It would have been wonderful if she could have been there, so I could’ve heard her recollections. This was the first time the family had gathered at the lake in over 45 years – the last time was the summer of 1978. That was the first time I’d ever been there. It was also the summer right after my mother died. Things were still a blur in my eleven-year-old world, but brief moments of smiles and laughter, as I tried to swim away from Pa-Paw, who was paddling fast in my direction, helped my broken little heart begin to heal…at least for a moment or two.

Now, 45 years later, I was once again working on healing my broken heart and wondering if I’d ever get the relationship thing right. The night before, I sat at the dinner table, feeling as if I were in a foreign country – stories about anniversaries, trips to Europe, kids, homes… none of that translated with me. All my cousins had long-standing, happy marriages. And me? Well… let’s just say I have had several brief recollections.

The sky was now a mix of pinks, oranges, and blues, and the heron that had been visiting me the day before stopped by again to say hello. The lake was as clear as it had been all those years ago, and as I closed my eyes and leaned further back into the post, I swore I could hear the waves talking to me, saying, “Remember the good things. Let the fear, disappointment, sadness, and uncertainty wash away. Everything’s going to be okay… you’ve got this.”

I also think I heard my young mother’s voice, as she squealed with delight as her photo was taken all those years ago. And I felt a sudden splash of water on my feet – maybe a sign from Pa-Paw to say, “Toot, keep a-swimmin’. You’re doing just fine, and I’ll always be right behind you in case you forget that.”

So, I’m going to keep that photo right where it is – a reminder of things – of how I was feeling at that moment two years ago… and how much different, and more peaceful, I feel today.