Vieques 2009

Have you ever walked on a beach, near the water's edge and you think the waves are going to reach your feet, but they pull back at that last second? You want your feet to get wet, but it's not up to you--the waves are unpredictable and uncontrollable.

Cindy and I traveled to Vieques, Puerto Rico in November 2007. The trip was actually quite stressful for me as Cindy complained about the cost of the flights, the accommodations, and the food before, during, and after the trip. As I told my therapist, this gnawed on my last nerve since Cindy did not have to worry about any expenses (I took care of all that). However, despite her annoyance at the cost, we fell in love with the beauty of the beaches here and were blown away by how clear and serene the oceans were. When we left Vieques to return home, I was sad because I did not think I'd be coming back again.

Soon after Cindy died, Hamp and Chris asked me whether I wanted to join them for a week in Vieques in January. Although my memories were still fresh, I decided to tag along.

During my time on Vieques with Cindy in November 2007, I kept a detailed journal. This journal not only included our daily activities, but my thoughts about Cindy, and my reactions to her complaints. Before I left for Vieques last Saturday, I debated whether to bring along that journal and possibly re-read those entries. But, at the last minute I decided to not bring it.

Hamp, Chris, and I went to Blue Beach on our first day here. For whatever reason, I did not feel overwhelmed by Cindy's presence. I had a normal amount of recollection about her, but nothing that immobilized me. It was not until we went to Secret Beach the next day when Cindy might as well have been hanging off my back.

As soon as we stepped onto the beach, I noticed those rocks. My mind so desperately wanted to see Cindy there. These were the rocks that Cindy actually sat still on for more than twenty minutes. I remember journaling about this because I was struck by how beautiful Cindy looked relaxing on those rocks. For a brief moment in time, she did not have a cell phone attached to her hand, there were no nursing books around her, and she was not dealing with a family crisis. If only Cindy could have had more moments like this. If only she could have learned to sit still for more than twenty minutes. If only we could have stayed there forever.

On Tuesday, I sat in those rocks in the exact spot Cindy did. I stared at the ocean as Cindy had done and started crying uncontrollably. For those of you who read this blog, you must think I am a sobbing machine. I promise you, I am fairly strong most of the time, but every widow has told me to not suppress the tears when you feel them. I am used to it now. Ever since Cindy died and left me behind, my life is this series of unpredictable and uncontrollable moments. When those moments are over, I force my body back to the land of the living.

Sometimes, my mind puts up a fight. I want to jump into the water after her. I want to find her among the rock formations on the beach. I want pull back the palm branches and catch her hiding behind them. I stayed on those rocks thinking about her, about us, and my life without her for about an hour. I did not want to leave because I did not want to leave her. But, much like the waves, a force pulled me back and hastened my retreat.