SIGNS AT THE BEACH

I’m sitting in a beach chair at the Jersey Shore resort on one of the most beautiful beach-days ever… crying under my sunglasses.

July 4th weekend, we went on our first vacation without Annalise. Our first trip since COVID-19 hit. Every summer since Annalise was 1 year old, we would go to the shore for a weeks vacation. It was always around this time, too. It was arguably Annalise’s favorite time of year. Mine as well. We both love the water and swimming with her was always a blast. In many ways it was our thing. I was her dad, and together we faced the mighty Atlantic Ocean together.

Last year on the 6th day of our trip, she vomited. We thought it was a stomach bug or maybe heat exhaustion. It was June 26. Six weeks later should would be diagnosed with that dumbass brain tumor.

The picture here is from the last day of our vacation. Annalise was feeling a little better. We thought the worst was over. Looking at it now, I can see the circles under her eyes. The nightmare had begun. We just didn’t know it yet.

Returning to the beach and stepping into the ocean felt so strange. She’s not holding my hand this time. She’s not laughing and screaming “Here comes another one!” She’s not holding me tight around the neck as I hug her, protecting her, and making her feel safe from the mighty Atlantic Ocean’s waves. She’s not there at all. Or was she?

Every breaking wave was a reminder of her. I missed that feeling of holding her and knowing that she felt safe in my arms.

The sounds of the sea used to make me feel calm, relaxed, now the sounds fill me with pain, anxiety and a future I never wanted. I can’t help but notice a girl playing nearby — blonde hair, about 9 years old, wearing a bathing suit Annalise had worn. Everything was shining a light on her not being there.

My son is 5 so I don’t have the time to be sad, especially here. So I did what I do—I convinced the boy to jump waves with me. Now, holding his hand, we stared down the mighty Atlantic together, as I tell him the stories of how I did this very thing with his sister. Other summers he was always too scared but this year he braved the water with me, going further than ever before. We jumped waves as I held him close and he laughed and screamed “Again! Again!” just like Annalise did at his age. I smiled a lot. Laughed a lot. Pretended to get eaten by a shark – a classic move. And in the end, we had a blast. The second we got out of the water I was clobbered with guilt. A guilt that comes on every time I make a happy memory with him, like I’m somehow moving on from her. It kills me. I caught myself thinking about what it would be like to walk into the ocean and let it take me.

At one point I was really distraught. In that moment, in my mind, I asked Annalise to send me a sign. At that exact moment I looked up and out in the ocean I saw dolphins swimming by. In my mind I could hear her yelling, “Dad, there’s your favorite animal!” She drew a dolphin on my birthday card this past year.

Later, when I needed her there again, I asked again, and at that exact moment a large crab ran out of the water, right next to where we were sitting. It scuttled along the beach and all the kids went wild. In all my years of going to the shore, I have never seen anything like that before, and I couldn’t help but think of Annalise’s pet hermit crab, Dorothy Ann, who died a day before we left for Avalon in 2019.

I don’t know, I want to believe she was there. I want to so bad. Wouldn’t that be amazing? And yet, say that was a real sign for her. It’s still not enough. I want her here so bad. I guess I have settle on amazing.