A Sunday in June

Sunday Afternoon in June

We went to the beach on Sunday. Late in the day. It had been foggy and rainy off and on all weekend, but shortly after The Due woke up from his nap, the sun peaked it's head out to remind us all of what sunshine looked like. So off we ran.

And hit fog and overcast skies. But, still warm and a bit humid we ventured to the sea.

The beach was surprisingly crowded, and the ocean water was warm (a relative term when used in regards to a New England beach) taking away the cling of the close sticky air.

The Dude romped and splashed and jumped at the edge of the water. Racing the small waves, hoping over them and extorting us to join in his special and pure brand of fun.

The sun, hidden behind the fog, but peaking out here and there, began to go down. And The Dude began to look cold, but in the great tradition of children on beaches everywhere, denied it. Eventually we convinced to leave the water and wrap up in a towel.

After warming up for a bit, he started to run around on the flat sand. "Chase me daddy!" He said, and I did. We ran down the beach, side by side, laughing. It was a moment in time that you want to hang on to forever. Laughing and running down the beach with your child. This is where you want to live.

It's a moment. And it passes.

He pulled ahead of me, and I felt the physical weight of my years slow me. My breath heaving too much, my chest too tight for the relatively small amount I had exerted. A fog had rolled in, fast and heavy, and I began to see his tiny body, laughing and running, disappear into it. I called to him, but, as is often the case, he did not take my words seriously, intent as he was on his fun. My breath grew heavier, he slipped further into the wispy clouds. I called again, more urgent this time. And again. And again.

"I will not loose him" I actually said it out loud, and forced my old before it's time body to move faster . "I will not loose him." Forced my breathing, to regulate itself, forced the pounding in my head to quiet. Fixed on my child, I ran for him.

He stopped eventually, turned around and we caught up with each other. I gently chided him for his not listening, but I also understood that I was asking a bit too much for his still little brain and body. We hugged and he laughed, and I laughed with a feeling of strange relief that he may never understand. One that I can't quite explain anyway.

We walked hand in hand, back the way we had came.