The sign read, “Ocean Beach Access” but below that “No Water.”
I smiled as I passed this sign on my recent trip to the coast. The message was a reminder of a happier time, now however marked by sadness.
The last time I was here I was accompanied by my wife, celebrating our anniversary, then almost 50 years.
Now I was alone as I’d recently lost her to cancer.
“How come you didn’t turn?” she had asked. “The sign said ‘Ocean Beach Access.'”
“I know,” I had smiled at her. “But it also said, ‘No water.’ What’s an ocean without water? Maybe there’s water up a ways.”
“David!” she had exclaimed, shaking her head.
I’d give anything to hear her say that again.
To see her shake her head in mock disgust at this goofy man she married a half-century before.
To be able to take her hand and walk along the shore, listening to the crash and thunder of the breakers.
To go beachcombing for treasures, all while holding in my hand my dearest treasure of all.
I’d give anything.
