BayouKidz | Summer Memories of Samuel

article by Cindy G. Foust

Well, summer has made it to the Twin Cities, and we are all sitting in our bikinis and Speedos, wondering what has happened to our lives. Right? Wrong, for me anyway, because there is no way I’m even trying a bikini on, but I did in fact just get back from the beach a few weeks ago, and I saw plenty of people in bikinis. Does that count? I don’t know how many of our readers visit the beach, I’m sure the number is high, so it begs the question, “Do we have any beach people watchers out there?”

I know for me, it’s very intriguing watching people while they enjoy some beach time. You see a little bit of everything, right? Some young couples with no kids; some families with a lot of kids; some older people who probably wish they still were kids…yes, it’s a melting pot of all types of folks.

And then you have the ones who think they are bikini models for Victoria’s Secret, and there are some that could be, for sure. And then there are others. Yes, I am definitely in the “others.” I’m not even sure why I am in this rabbit hole, except I wanted to report in on a few observations from my beach trip that have nothing to do with swimsuits. Y’all still here?

I’m not sure I have shared with my readers that I am a grandmother now (insert eye roll), but I am, in fact, “Lulu.” And my little pookie was on this year’s trip, not her first beach trip, but the first one where you plop her down in the sand and watch her disjointed face when her little feet touch the grit for the first time. She wasn’t a fan, as most aren’t, but she got an A+ for actually sitting in each of our laps every day, listening to music, eating her fruit and PB&J, and napping.

And it was glorious. During these nap times I spent a lot of time in my people watching era and I made several observations. For one, I really miss those years when my kids were little. Oh, I know and don’t have to be reminded of how hard it is to pack everything down to the beach, in the hot blue blazes, and try to beat the 1,200 other families down there to get the optimal spot. Of course, Scott had to do this at like 5:00 a.m. to ensure we had the front-row-Joe spot and not have our view obstructed. I think back on that time, when he was making five trips with ice chests, tents, towels, speakers, toys, boogie boards, plastic pools (which had to be filled up with tap water because the salt water burned their eyes), and I have to laugh because can you really call that a vacation? The back and forth trips to the pool to the beach, to the pool to the beach to the condo to get a sandwich and then start all over again? Kids who were tired and sleepy and a little sun-kissed, trying to get to somewhere for dinner where you didn’t have a two-hour wait. Does anyone out there understand me at all, and if so, could you please raise your hand?

But, I would go back to that time in a split second. As I sat holding my little baby love, I allowed the memories to flood back to me, the ones that I worked so hard to repress. That last summer beach trip with my late son, Samuel, when he was two and Robert Scott was five and the memories flooded my soul. I live my life, readers, and I hope you can understand this, caught between feelings of gratitude for this life I have been gifted, and perpetual sadness for the life that I thought I would have. Does that make sense?

It’s been a little over 20 years, but I can still see my little boy racing down the beach being pulled behind the boogie board and screaming, “Do it again, do it again!” I can see him in the bumper cars at the waterpark. I can see him at the aquarium in his little blue Keds sneakers. I can see it like it was yesterday, and I have so much relief that I can still in fact, see it.

Because, like you, readers, I get busy. I get bogged down with life. I get distracted by issues or problems that feel like they are so big. So important.

And then my mind takes me back to that beach trip, and I am reminded that they are, in fact, not really important at all.

What is important is the time we carved out with our family, especially that year. The time we lugged all that “stuff” (Cassie doesn’t like us to use profanity but if I had my choice, it would probably rhyme with sit) to the beach, seven days in a row and ran our legs off and collapsed in the bed at night to get up the next day to do it all again.

And I would. I would do it all again to go back to that sacred week.

I became fascinated with a little white-haired boy on this year’s trip, in what has now been 23 years since I held my own little white-haired boy. His family had their beach “station” beside ours, and this little precious one wore his Gilligan hat and carried his shovel and pail around for a whole week. It’s interesting how life works out sometimes, that I would again find myself back on the beach, holding this new, precious life that my family has been gifted, and wondering what my little boy would have been. What would he have become? Who would he have grown up to love? Would he always love his Mommy with the ferociousness he did at two?

I know, readers, I know the answer to this question, but in the month of the year that hosts my little boy’s birthday, I can’t help but wonder what my now 23-year-old son would be.

And it’s okay to wonder. My uncle Al, an evangelist who travels the country preaching the Word, assured me one night not long after I lost Samuel that God wouldn’t allow me to miss out on anything with my baby. The story has more context, but just know readers, that it gave me the comfort I needed to make a pivotal turn in my grief journey.

Even though it feels like, on his 23rd birthday, that I missed out on everything, I know when I am with him again, I won’t have missed out on anything.

I share a lot with you readers, but rarely if ever, do I share about this dark time of my life. It was dark for a long while, but through the years, and the subsequent beach trips, all the way up to the one at the end of June, I have found a way to turn the darkness into light. And I will always honor Samuel’s memory, for as long as I have breath, because I never want the impact of his life to be forgotten.

Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life,  parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.