Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BEACH (09/01/22)
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TITLE: Softened by the Storm | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jennifer Percell
09/08/22 -
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She died yesterday. After four years of surgery, treatments and prayers. Oh, the prayers; in our classes, in our closets, on our knees, on our faces, we asked for cures, we asked for less pain, we asked for a miracle, but yesterday she drifted away forever.
I open Facebook and some uninformed friend has posted her birthday greeting, not just belated, but too late. The picture on the post is from before she lost her hair. She looks so happy, so alive and I feel a pain as sharp as stepping on glass. Instead of blood, my tears flow, but the pain takes my breath away.
I mindlessly scroll but my heart is raw, and it seems as though each page has an unseen shard of glass to cut me. A list of signs of dementia, brings my sister's image to mind and I flinch. A “How to Pray for Your Prodigal” article and I am cut with pieces of guilt, and hopelessness. Stabs of fear paralyze me as I see pictures of happy friends and wonder if they might have cancer too. I realize I am falling into the sorrow and losing perspective, but I can't seem to break my fall.
I click on my profile intending to write a post about her. “One Year Ago...See Your Memories” catches my eye. The day I spent on Ormond Beach last year appears and I look at each photo. Endless white sand, tiny shore birds, crashing waves and sandcastles begin to calm my grieving spirit. I linger on each picture and try to smell the fish, feel the warmth of the sun and the gritty sand between my toes.
Closing my eyes, I can see other beaches. Daytona with surfers as far as I can see. Pemaquid in Maine where the beach appeared as the sun burned off the densest fog I had ever seen. Manly Beach in New South Wales, the water was impossibly clear, and the fish and chips smelled heavenly. Malibu where I saw an octopus for the first time. Neuville Beach on the St. Laurent where Bibianne taught me to collect sea glass.
Sea glass. I go to the basement and search in the closet for the five-gallon bucket. The lid sticks but I eventually pry it off with a handy knitting needle. I kneel and dig in with both hands. I found the green pieces in Neuville, the blue and brown were common on Ile d'Orleans and the rare red were just above Navy Pier.
My favorite free souvenir, glass that is tumbled, and ground by the waves and sand until all the sharp edges are rounded and the shine gives way to a worn frosted appearance. Wikipedia says that sea glass created by salt water can take anywhere from 20 to 200 years to weather to its most beautiful state. Pieces drift up from shipwrecks, others are thrown into the sea on one continent and are shattered, and tossed by the constant upheaval of the oceans, until they land on another continent a world away. I am always amazed at how soft the edges become. My grandchildren play in the sea glass bucket with no fear of being cut.
Slowly I realize I am no longer trapped in my sorrow. The pain so sharp an hour ago has dulled to a manageable ache. It would be impossible to miss the hope I hold in my hands. This lovely glass, no longer able to cut and maim, was softened by storms of pain and hardship.
She was softened by her illness. We used to talk about how it was making her realize what mattered and what was not worth fighting for. We talked about being closer to God than ever before because we had needed Him so badly in our personal battles. We talked about finding beauty in the simplest things because we were so much more in tune to thoughts of eternity and the brevity of life.
There on my knees, with my hands still grasping the lovely glass I pray again. This time I thank God that our pain brought us closer to Him and to each other. I thank Him because, like the sea glass, my friend had a soul made lovely by her pain. And I ask Him to sit with me in my grief as He softens my soul with the storm.
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