Remembering Mom

The blazing sun scorched the sand as I made my way out of town along Canada’s most beautiful beach. My feet burned at each step. Sweat dribbled down my forehead and into my eyes making them sting. It was another blistering day at Sauble Beach.
The nauseating smell of over-cooked hot dogs and greasy fries consumed my nostrils as I hastened along the shoreline. Blowing sand tasted like dust in my mouth. I quickened my stride as I progressed toward Mom's weather-beaten home far down the beach.




Once past the fun-loving, laughter-filled beach lovers I found a sheltered spot near the towering hills of sand where I rested and watched the gently white-capped water. The soft, cream-colored granules sifted through my toes, tickling me as I hunkered down in the lee of the dunes. Here I had a bit of privacy for my grieving heart.



The greenish-blue water lapped at the shore like a puppy. Adults heedfully tended to toddlers at the water's nibbling edge. Mom enjoyed squatting there with my sister, giggling together.
Sandbars, lighter blue than the water around them, caught my eye: one, two, three, and four. I swam out to the farthest one through the frigid water with Mom at my side every summer as a child.

My eyes followed the dozen screeching seagulls swooping through the sky looking for scraps of food left by sunbathers. Occasionally, one dove down and snatched a rippled chip or piece of dried-out bread in its pointed yellow beak. More often, two or three made the plunge and I heard the raucous squabble over their garbage entree. I wondered if Mom, now living in heaven, could see them too; and if, like me, they made her smile softly and remember days gone by.

I licked my lips and tasted the salty tang of my perspiration. Maybe it was from my tears. I didn't know.

I focused beyond the gulls at the puffy white clouds lazily floating in the pale blue sky. Faintly, the groan of the beach swing reached my ears as some little person pumped higher trying to reach those fluffy cotton balls in God’s heavens. Mom pushed me on that splintered, wooden swing many years ago.


Detecting the sickly stench of exhaust and catching the jarring sound of car doors slamming I knew that my intimate nook was going to be invaded. I reluctantly rose to my feet, scooped up my discarded sandals and plodded up the sandy mound behind me.
Long slender dune grasses left tiny scratches on my knees. They faded quickly with a firm rub of my hand. I trusted God to soothe my soul as easily.

I turned back to look at the calm, beckoning water.

Someday I would return to enjoy its call, but not that day; no, not then.


- Written by Anita , A Woman's Walk author-