Our Jones Beach Days
Peter always loved Jones Beach. When we first met, it was one of the first places he took me. It was a pleasant summer evening. We had both come straight from work. He was in a suit and I was in a flowing silk dress and heels. As we walked on the boardwalk, you could hear the waves on one side of the walkway and the sound of music and laughter on the other. It was one of those nights where there was all kinds of live entertainment on the boardwalk. There was a group square dancing, another swinging. There was a small band playing. People sang along to their music. We sauntered about, observed the crowds as we talked. We were getting acquainted with each other. We walked and walked and talked as we did. At one point my toes clenched up in pain from walking such a distance in heels. I sat down, took off my shoes and began to massage my toes. Peter gently pushed my hands away and began to massage them. I was struck by his caring ways. What kind of man would do such a thing? Not too many people would. He had just known me a short while. Feet are not things you touched, especially not when you are just getting acquainted! That was one of the many things he did that made me realize what a special man he was. As the years went by, we went to Jones Beach countless times. Whenever we had an opportunity, he would drive us there. I remember a cold winter day driving to the beach. As we approached the ocean, he opened the windows. We could hear the angry waves thrashing against the sandy shore and the wind howling in accompaniment. The salty air smelled of the fish that dwelt there. I shivered with cold but looking at Peter’s face light up with delight, I kept silent. Other times during the off-season, we would go during the week. Except for the seagulls, the beach was abandoned. It was too cold. We would lean over the railings of the boardwalk and watch the reflection of the winter sun shimmer against the ocean. We would listen to the sound of the waves rushing to the shore. When we tired, we would walk to the cafe for something to warm us. There was always a sense of peace there. One time we met a friendly highway patrolman. We got into a conversation with him. I cannot remember if it was early spring or sometime during autumn. He was young. He said it was so quiet during the off-season that he took the opportunity to study for his exams while sitting in his patrol car. One summer morning we got up really early and drove there in the dark just to watch the sun rise. We had taken flasks of coffee and breakfast sandwiches. We were dressed warmly and had wrapped ourselves in a huge warm blanket that we shared. We sipped our coffee and nibbled at our sandwiches. We did not speak. There was no need to. Somehow, we felt it would take away from the magic of the moment. When we arrived, the sky was dark grey and slowly, slowly it became light. The sun finally rose to become a splendid golden orb hanging above us in the sky over the ocean. It reflected itself on the horizon and prisms of light in the waves of the ocean. We held our breath in awe of its stunning beauty. We then got up and slowly walked back to the car and drove home. I think this was one of Peter’s ways of removing stress from his line of work. This is what kept him kind and sweet and gentle. I always marvelled at his even temperament. I considered myself to be very lucky to be the one he chose to share his life with. I always felt myself so blessed to be his wife and soulmate. On the last day before he died, a Sunday, we had gone out to a French patisserie for a mid-morning coffee. Afterwards he said, ‘Let’s go to Jones Beach.’ I looked at him sadly and said, ‘You know I can’t walk that far anymore.’ Instead we went to Oakland Lake Park. It was closed for renovations. We sat in the car, by the side of the entrance to the park, peeking at the lake and the waterfowl. The next day he was gone. I often think to myself, why oh why did I not say yes? Yes. I will crawl to Jones Beach for you. If I only knew it was to be your last day on this earth, what would I not have done for you? If I only knew… Oh my Peter, on that day I had failed you. The next day I would have held on tight to you and when death came to take you, he would have had a hard time prying you from my clasp. He would have had to take me as well. If I only knew… If I only knew… And now three long lonely years have passed. There is not a day that I do not think of you and miss you. There is not a day that passes that I do not think of how blessed I am that you are my husband.