The Breakers

I actually really like to do laundry. And, by that, I mean, of household chores that is the one I enjoy the most. I enjoy the process and the completeness of it. I do laundry every Wednesday. Each Wednesday morning the big boys make a “laundry train” of the laundry baskets from each of the bedrooms lined up in the upstairs hallway. I carry them downstairs to our laundry room and begin to sort. I have one bin for dark colors, whites and lights. Once all baskets are sorted, I start the first load. Usually whites first to get the bleach out of the way while I still only have on my pajamas. And, in all honesty, I love the smell of bleach. And the sorting, and the folding and the smell of dried laundry. I love holding the clothes, looking at them and thinking of the day my little one had in it, remembering how they used to wear the smaller clothes that are now in their little brother’s pile. I like the neat piles of clothes each in a line for its owner. After 5-6 loads, laundry is complete. At least until the next “water play” that really turns into “mud play” or until next Wednesday. Whites, lights, darks, towels, extras. All folded, returned to the owner’s bin and carried to their room. The clothes are put away and the bin waits to be filled.

Beach towels are not actually returned in a bin. I keep them downstairs in the laundry room in the summertime near the backdoor to be ready for quick pool runs or messy outdoor play. I folded four beach towels tonight. I fold them differently than bath towels and the special rhythm I give them reminds me of the special rhythm of the beach, one of my favorites places to be. And these beach towel speak to a special memory tonight: one of my dad taking me out passed the breakers when I was a little girl.

He was a great swimmer and taught me to love the water. He honored the vastness and power of the ocean but felt as if his love for the ocean protected him in some mysterious way. He didn’t fear the sharks, the jellyfish, or the riptides. We are in their home, he would remind me. We shouldn’t be surprised or upset if those things happen. Learn to respond. That day, when we went out passed the breakers, we were caught in a rip tide. He had told me what to do in the past and reminded me that I was safe with him. We let the rip tide take us out. We could not fight it. We had to be out of control and just float. I had to trust my dad and trust the process that if we let the current take us out, we could swim parallel to the shore and then ride the waves in. I didn’t have much choice. I looked my dad in the eye, held his arm for a moment, and let go with the current. We went farther than I had ever been in the ocean. I was afraid but also assured that I was safe with him. We did as we planned: floated out past the rip tide, swam parallel to the shore and then rode the waves in.

There was a huge relief when we hit the shore. I felt victorious. I had conquered that rip tide. Really, though, I had given in to the rip tide. There I was in the middle of the ocean knowing that if I fight this rip tide, I will get a cramp and could drown. Or, I could surrender to my position in the vast, powerful ocean, and float knowing that when I’m out of the current, I can swim again and eventually return to the shore.

That is exactly how I feel right now. I could fight how I feel. I am discouraged by my lethargy, frustrated at my emotions, and angry that I’m even dealing with the death of the man who taught me this lesson in the first place. I want my life to be like laundry; clean, neatly folded in the correct pile, wonderful memories soaring about, put away and ready to be used again. Such hope, such expectation of what the day might bring that the clothes would see. But, my life is not like that right now and the quicker I can realize that it just isn’t going to be like that right now, the better I will feel about myself. The stage that I’m in with littles at home is all about survival and finding the joy amidst the chaos. I cannot add unnecessary expectations that make finding joy that much harder.

I need to just float, just be whatever I am, feel whatever I need to feel, and give in to the tide. When I have strength again, I can swim and really, swim as far as I want parallel to the shore. Then, when I’m ready, I may just return to the shore. Life will continue to go whether I’m fighting or floating this tide. My children will play, cut up all the cardboard in my house, and head to school. I’ll make meals, fold laundry and clean up toys. I'll meet with friends. I'll go to church. I’ll even hit the gym and make a green smoothie every now and then. But, right now, I’m reminding myself that nothing is expected except floating as far out as the current will take me until the rip tide has passed. I will wait for strength to return and know that I will swim again and return to shore again. But, that day is not today. Today, I will float way out passed the breakers and remember the kindest man I ever knew.