I love this little beach house.  skateboards in one corner, guitars in another, and the surf boards…all the seasons favorites within arms reach – sun drenched rooms and bleach white towels, breezes blowing through open windows. This is what we remember in the winter months, this is what gets us through the snow and more recently, the treatments and the hospital stays. This is our place of respite, and of healing and of so so much family togetherness. For ten years we’ve summered in our little love shack, too small for overnight guests and just enough togetherness to create tolerance for everyones nuances and force us to keep to somewhat simple living, at least by our particular standards. It is here we have created an all to short lifetime of memories and it is here where we heal – by the sea, under the summer sun.

If you asked me for one word to describe the last three and a half years of my life, I would probably say “remarkable”, yet I haven’t been able to put the words onto paper until now.

I thank God for that weekend at the beach. I fought for that weekend, I fought all week long for that weekend, and when the doctors gave up and walked away, I fought even harder. I knew I owed him one last moment with the salt air on his face. And so it was, a gloomy weekend, but one filled with family and friends. There was a peaceful energy and it felt complete. We had a magical moment as a family at Waverly Beach on our way off the island that Monday evening. It was so foggy you could hardly see Atlantic City only miles in the distance.

The next days were sort of a living wake.  Our friends and our family sat vigil, never leaving our side, except in shifts to sleep. We drank beer, played music, laughed and cried. Dean really got to BE WITH everyone then. It was a tremendously surreal experience and he was completely surrounded by love those last days. This year, July 4th we saw a different kind of independence, a gut wrenching 24 hours that tested every stitch of our being yet was peaceful and “right” and very very holy.  He passed quietly with the girls and I by his side on that hot muggy day. It seems fitting, Independence Day, although not something I think I can ever get used to.

I want to acknowledge our friends and family who are by our side endlessly, forever and ever.  I don’t know what we did to deserve a circle of people like you. It is a remarkable showing of how amazing it is to stand for one another. Our friendships with each of your run so so deep, and without you the sun doesn’t shine.  The outpouring of support has been tremendous, really.

To all our music makers, late night dancers and friends along the way – you have lifted us higher than you can imagine. You too are our respite. Coincidentally, or not, the six words I heard loud and clear at the cemetery in that summer heat, “If I don’t dance I’ll die”. Pretty much sums up how I am feeling.  We did a lot of getting lost in the music over past few years, and it was so good.  I’ll miss him most then, late night dancing. That’s my thin spot, that’s where I feel.

So – this is where we stand – healing and loving, and missing him daily, but allowing ourselves to be ok if we’re ok, and to miss when we’re not. It’s a daily practice, not unlike the yoga, ebbs and flows, heart expanding and contracting.  I’m finding the key is to keep open, to connect with others and deepen our relationships with ourselves and those around us. To surround ourselves with those who elevate us and to pay it forward, simply because it feels good to give back after needing for so long.

We’re looking forward to a fall FILLED with goodness, adventure and continued peace.  Much love. NDG&S