Jones Beach Memories
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, we heard the roar of waves caressing the shore on one side of the walkway, and the sound of music and people laughing and enjoying themselves on the other. It was one of those nights where there was all kinds of live entertainment everywhere. There was a group square dancing, another swinging. There was a small band playing. People sang along to their music. We sauntered about, watched the crowds, and talked. We were getting acquainted with each other. At one point, my toes clenched up in pain in my 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 for me. I was struck by his caring ways. What kind of man would do such a thing? Not too many people would. He had just begun to know me. Other people’s 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 drove us there. I remember one cold winter day driving to Jones 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 air smelled of the fish that dwelt there. I shivered with cold but looking at Peter’s face light up in delight, I kept silent. Other times during the offseason, we would go during the week when no one else was there. We would lean over the railings of the boardwalk and watch the reflection of the autumn 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. One time we met a friendly highway patrolman. We got into a conversation with him. I cannot remember if it was early spring or perhaps during autumn. The patrolman was young. He said it was so quiet during the season that he took the opportunity to study for some exam while sitting in his patrol car. On another occasion, on a summer morning, we got up really early and drove there in the dark just to watch the sunrise. We took flasks of coffee and breakfast sandwiches. We were dressed warmly and had wrapped ourselves in a huge warm blanket that we shared. We huddled close to each other, sipped our coffee, and nibbled at our sandwiches. We did not speak, for if we had, we would have ruined the magic of the moment. The sky was dark grey and slowly, slowly it became light. The sun finally rose to become a splendid, magical golden orb in the sky. It reflected itself on the horizon and prisms of light in the waves of the sea. The seagulls sang a soliloquy to honor the birth of the new day. We held our breath in awe of its stunning beauty. We silently gazed at God’s great gifts of beauty to man. A sense of peace enveloped us as we sat there. After a while, we got up and slowly walked back to the car and drove home. I think this was one of Peter’s ways of removing stress caused in his line of work. This is what kept him kind and sweet and gentle. I always marveled 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 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 would crawl to Jones Beach for you. If I only knew it was to be his last day on this earth, what would I not have done for him? If I only knew… Oh my Peter, on that day I had failed you. 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 was that you are my husband. You were, and you are, and always will be my beloved and cherished husband, forever and ever.