High Tide in Ogunquit

Ogunquit Beach at high tide, taken from the Ma...

Image via Wikipedia

I am writing from Ogunquit, Maine. It is 8:31pm. High tide. I have been sitting on my deck watching it come in for the past three hours with a glass of wine.

The air is all fog, the color of the sky is milk-white and fading pastel blue. It is cool and I have thrown a blanket across my legs.

The tide is up to the balcony and roaring. In Ogunquit, there are always at least four layers of waves crashing at once; I love this.

We arrived at 2pm in a late celebration of my 44th birthday. I immediately took a two-hour walk and the triggering of memories about my soul mate was painful. My heart bled.  Here I’ve been thinking for two weeks that my grieving is done and that I”m finally moving on and it took me one hour of fast walking north along the Atlantic Coast to quiet my mind from all the triggered memories of walking hand in hand with him along our beaches.

The situation of the hotel and balcony remind me of our first meeting after eighteen years in the little motel overlooking the sea in our coastal town.

We pulled up chairs and watched the tides. He arrived the next morning by six a.m., entering with his coffee as if it was perfectly normal to be coming over. I was still in bed and had to dress in the bathroom.

I would give anything except the lives and safety of my children to go back in time just those short three years ago and sit with him again there. My heart was pounding. Being with him again after nearly twenty years brought all the combined joy of every childhood Christmas morning. I would never be so joyful, so aware of God‘s blessing again.

If I could go back, I know exactly what I would say.

“Yes, I still love you, all these years, I have always loved you. Now you and I, we each have many troubles. Let us go forth, from this day, as one, but let us be honest with each other. Please be honest with me. I can accept anything about you as long as you are honest with me.”

Could he have been honest, if I had put it this way? Did he realize the depth of my love, that I would have accepted him with his weaknesses, with his failings?

Three short years later the high tide bashes against my balcony.

It is too late. It is all broken. Even if I could ever forgive him, I could never trust him again.

God, to go back in time three years. But it cannot be undone.

Please continue to pray for Maria Shriver, Patron Saint of Betrayed Women.



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