Salty Dogs, Mountains, & Mermaids

The ol' Mountain Man at Kitty Hawk Beach, OBX

I look to the horizon that stretches out in either direction as far as I can see. The sun is sinking on the Soundside behind me, while the waves crash on the sandy shore ahead. Dad and I have arrived without incident to a place we both love...the Outer Banks. Blissfully, I have no memory of being here that causes me pain, and in fact, it is one of those rare places on Earth that seeps Peace and Hope deep down into my bones. During the nearly six hour drive to get here, I sang to my father, danced in the car, and dragged him out of his shell a bit more with each mile. By the time we got here, the smile on his face was genuine, and there was just a glimmer of light in those green eyes. As I watched the water grow dark, I remembered how many people told me to "have fun" on our big "trip", but how does one have fun with the gravity of such an intense situation at hand? I think of the dangerous things that lurk beneath the mesmerizing surface of a sea that will give you joy or kill you depending on the circumstances, and the connections between that and what is happening are not lost on me.

I am determined not to cry for the entirety of the trip and dampen the mood of this trip even the slightest bit, but the second day I break that secret vow, smashing it all to hell. I cannot "unknow" just how possible it is these sights and sounds are some he will never experience again...but maybe he will. I want to have Hope, stay positive and as one day slips into the next, he fishes, and laughs, walks and eats, slowly, vibrantly coming alive again. There is that old man I know, whom I haven't seen in a very long time...he's full of joy and I want to weep and sing and hold tight to the moment forever. I want to bottle up whatever it is that's making him happy, stuff it in my pocket and carry it with me everywhere we go for a time when he might need that salty sea mojo again. By Thursday night, he confesses, "I don't want to go back." "I know," I say. "If I could think of a way to leave you here, I would." He is quiet for so long, I think he's done speaking and then he almost whispers, "Well, at least we have tomorrow." I don't remember the last time I heard him look on the bright side of anything, and I want to fill the ocean with tears, wondering if mermaids know how to sort the happy ones from those filled with sorrow.

Have you ever seen a mountain move? For the first time in my life I know precisely what that would look like. Somewhere in the surf, the salt, among the crabs, stingrays and fishes...that ol' mountain man found his "happy". And now, I pray as hard as I can pray that he'll remember where it is the next time the road he's on becomes rocky or seems insurmountable. Perhaps those mermaids will whisper the secret of it to him in dreams when he needs it.