I’ve taken the day off work. I’m not really fit for working, today. The loss of my Dear Friend one year ago weighs heavily on my heart today. I slept poorly, plagued by sorrowful restless dreams. I left the house early and headed to the seashore, a place both my Dear Friend and my Granny loved. I feel closer to them any time I am at the seashore.

I arrived just before daybreak, too early for breakfast. I parked at a favorite beachfront spot and waited with my thoughts and the coffee I bought for the drive (but barely touched). It is a foggy, misty morning, well-suited to grieving and thinking thoughts.

I sit on the sea wall, in the morning chill, listening to the gulls overhead and watching daybreak become dawn. Cloud cover obscures any hint of sunrise. I’m okay with that. Slow tears fall. I miss my friend as I sit here watching, listening, waiting… What am I waiting for? Grief to fade? It’s an unrealistic expectation. She was too dear to me, and too much a part of the woman I have become over the years of our friendship. More so even than the son who was my partner for a time, which makes me laugh somewhat inappropriately as my tears fall. Grief is funny like that; it makes its own rules.

The year that has passed since my Dear Friend’s death has been mostly too busy for grieving, beyond the most minimal momentary sorrows that overcame me unexpectedly now and then. I immersed myself in the busy-ness of life, work, and caregiving of my injured Traveling Partner. There was so much I would have shared with my Dear Friend, and I have felt her absence deeply. So… I’m here, now, taking time to feel my feelings, and to grieve honestly, without reservation. No holding back. No excuses. Just me, her, and the seashore, alone with my thoughts and memories, my cherished joys, and my moments of regret. Were there things I wish I had said? Definitely. Do I wish I had visited more often and sooner? Yes. Could I have been a better friend? A better person? More helpful and present in times of need? Yeah. Still though, in spite of those very human regrets, I’m also celebrating the joy and wonder that was our close friendship of almost 30 years. The things we did say, the moments we shared, the wise counsel we exchanged over the years, however geographically distant our residences happened to be at a given time.

… She helped me get past my conviction that I couldn’t do math, and taught me basic algebra (in my 30s), and showed me that math was just another sort of language – one that I could learn. I’ve benefited greatly from that teaching, too, subsequently going on to make my living (for a long time) in a field of endeavor reliant on relatively complicated math. Over the years we enjoyed many conversations about math, numbers, and various number theories. Good times.

… I miss her…

A hint of an idea for a bite of breakfast develops, but it’s too early still. I drive down the coast a bit further to another spot I like. I walk on the beach, listening to the sea birds, and the crash of the waves. Tide coming in? Going out? I watch for a little while, hands jammed into my pockets for warmth. I make a mark on the beach with my foot and watch the waves crashing in awhile longer. The tide is coming in. I smile to myself and walk on. The fog begins to thicken down on the beach. I walk back to the car thinking about breakfast and hot coffee.

Breakfast was pleasant and relaxed. I had a cozy seat by a warm fire. I enjoyed the hot coffee, properly made and freshly brewed. The meal was well prepared, a half portion of biscuits and gravy. Instead of pork sausage gravy, it was crab , unexpected, but quite delicious. After breakfast I returned to my wandering and my thoughts. I would have loved to have had my Dear Friend’s company at breakfast; I think she would have enjoyed that place. (I know I always do, and it is my favorite breakfast spot in the area.)

I sit awhile in this particular beachside location, watching the tide come in, and taking occasional pictures as the light changes, changing the view. I am listening to the gulls. I sit with my recollections of the many times on similar trips I have sent my Dear Friend pictures of this or that – some view, or a snapshot of wildlife, or a flower – and shared my thoughts on how I might paint that scene. I don’t consider her to have been my “muse”, but she was deeply appreciative, and a fond fan of my art. Being an artist herself, she understood what moved me, and how to share her thoughts with me in ways that were reliably encouraging and thought-provoking. She often understood things about what I had communicated in colors, on paper or canvas, that I hadn’t explicitly acknowledged myself. I miss those things.

Siletz Bay slowly refills, seawater covering the mud flats inch by inch. I sit quietly, enjoying the solitude, and the sound of gulls enjoying the morning their own way.  I watch flocks of sea birds, some drifting over the calm water of the bay, others lifting as a group, taking flight and passing by overhead. Sunshine begins to break through, here and there.

My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting, and checks that I made the trip safely. I wish him good morning, and confirm that I arrived safely. I feel loved. Tears spill over again. I don’t have any reason why, but I don’t do anything to stop them, or trouble myself with overthinking the moment. I just feel the feelings as they come, and let them pass when they will. I needed this time for feeling feelings, that’s clear to me.

I decide to make my way further down the coast… This spot is becoming a bit crowded.

I take my time walking the muddy path around the edge of the small state park at Boiler Bay. There’s a lot to see here, for someone into rocks and waves and sea birds. The crashing and booming of the waves bringing in the tide are intense and the spray reaches the fence where it is closest to the rocky edge of the cliff.

I linger a long while in this place. Often crowded in summer months, it is almost deserted today, except for a small assortment of photographers, decked out with very serious camera gear. We pass each other on the path, each of us pausing here and there for some particular view. Each having our own version of this peculiarly shared experience. There is a common purpose, demonstrated by the unusual lack of conversation, even in groups; no one wants to ruin someone’s pictures or videos.

There is a crow checking out the goings on. He has no reluctance about making a racket when someone is filming. lol I sit nearby on a picnic table, watching him watching me for some little while.

The cold begins to stiffen my fingers and I return to the car to warm up. I think about all the beachfront places my Dear Friend and I had talked about seeing together, rather long ago when she was still up for traveling. After a few minutes of thought, I decide to head back up the coast to “Road’s End”, and begin again.

The path down to the beach from the pull-off at Road’s End is steep and treacherous, unpaved and pocked with loose rocks… unless of course I go a few steps further on, to the proper paved path, which is much less treacherous but still ankle twistingly steep. I’m grateful to have my cane with me. I slowly take the walk down to the beach, insisting to myself that I not give up on this sort of thing. “Use it or lose it”, I mutter to myself, thinking of my Dear Friend and those last couple years, by which point she had lost most of her ability to walk more than the few painful steps the length of her small home. Long before then, she had encouraged me to keep walking, and extracted from me a commitment to avoid “losing my legs” for as long as I am able. I keep walking. At the base of the path down to the beach I look back grimly. It’s going to be a hell of a trudge back up that steep path. “Good for you, though, ya lazy bitch,” I comment to myself, more amused than annoyed.

The sun has finally come out. Midday approaches as I return to the car. Another pause to breathe the sea air. I sit with my thoughts awhile, before I make my way to the next beach, and another moment of reflection.

The day feels warmer now. I’ve got a seat on a quiet bench in the sunshine. The fog has receded, appearing now as a cloud bank on the distant horizon. The sky is blue and my tears have dried. It’s a new day, a nice one. I sigh to myself, and smile at the little brown bird that took a seat next to me quite fearlessly. She’s having her own experience, and eyes me curiously. I want to ask her “are you my Dear Friend joining me for a moment?”, but I’m not sure I believe that sort of thing at all (I’m also not sure I don’t). I know my Dear Friend would have been quite delighted to make an appearance as a small brown bird. She sings me a bit of her song, then flies away.

My Traveling Partner interrupts my moment, reaching out about a bill that wants paying. Real life. I do the needful. Then, I breathe exhale and relax and gaze out over the sea, thinking thoughts of love, and art, and cherished dear friends who are never truly gone, after a lifetime of close friendship. Friendships of such depth don’t end with death. Death is just another change of address.

I needed to take this time for myself, to grieve, and to celebrate. To savor a friendship that has meant so much to me that it endures beyond the end of one finite mortal lifetime. We are mortal creatures. Change is. It’s only another time to begin again… There are more beaches to see, and more paths to walk.