Never turn your back on the sea

S and I took Critter to the beach for the first time when she was about six months old. From my position on the beach chair holding a sleeping baby, I saw him diving into the water over and over. I thought he was looking for sand dollars. It went on for a really long time, calling my sand dollar theory into question. I motioned for him to come to us, and he motioned back to wait a minute, then kept diving. Finally, he came to the beach and told me he had lost his wedding band. He was so upset that he didn’t want to leave the beach that day. The ring had always been too big, and he was kicking himself for not having it sized. I told him it was just a thing, and we could get a new one.

A couple of weeks ago, I took care of my friends’ three kids while they took a fabulous trip to Seattle. Laboring under the delusion that I had superpowers, I decided to take all four children to the beach. When we had been there for a few hours and I was starting to feel like it was too hot and too sunny and everyone was too hungry, Critter came out of the surf sobbing.  She had lost her ring, the ring S gave her. I didn’t even dive down to look for it – she didn’t know where she was when it fell off, and I didn’t want to give her false hope. So we sat at the edge of the water and I held her while we both cried. I told her the story of S’s wedding band and how we were in the same spot when it was lost, so it was kind of nice to think that the two rings were together in the sea.  The other kids didn’t know what to do – one went away, the other hovered (the third is only two years old, so he continued to fill his bucket with water and dump it out over and over).

We packed up, rinsed off and headed for home. Critter perked up in the car. When she got into bed that evening, though, the tears came again. She was holding a charm that she said allowed her one wish. I asked what her wish would be and she said, “You think I’d want the ring back, but I don’t. I want Dad back.” 

And that is how my baby started grieving.