The Struggle is Real

Life has a funny way of throwing you curve balls when you least expect it. Everything on the surface appears fine, you’re chugging along, and then…..boom, life as you know it has changed. My life this past year has been a series of booms. Family issues. Surgery. Anxiety and Depression. The latter one really throwing me for a loop. Until you’ve experienced it first hand, you have no idea the death-like grip it can have on your life. It holds you hostage, making you a prisoner in your own mind. The worst thing about it is the stigma behind getting help. Many people, myself included, are so worried about what “people” will think if they find out you’re being treated for depression or anxiety that they ignore the problem all together or try to deal with it on their own. You see, the problem with that is, left untreated, it only gets worse. Ultimately, robbing you of the people and things you love.

After much internal debate I decided to reach out to my doctor and get help. I wanted to be a good role model for my kids. Show them there’s no shame in getting help.

I let my depression rob me of my passion. My family is my number one love but second to that is the written word.

I LOVE to write. I LOVE BOOKS!! I used to be able to read 2-3 books a week and I had gotten to a point where I was lucky if I could finish one in two weeks. And as far as writing goes….well, let’s just say that it has been so long since I’ve taken “pen to paper” and written a word, let alone a sentence, I was starting to doubt I’d ever write again.

There was, however, a catalyst that made me realize how much I missed it.

What was that catalyst, you ask?

Wait for it……

….hold onto your monitors……..

this is pretty darn awesome……

Meeting Sandra Brown.

Sandra is a phenomenal speaker and oh, so humble. The evening was perfection and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. No joke, guys. My face seriously hurt from smiling so much.

Did I mention she’s my favorite author?

NO?

Well, she is. Her writing is the perfect combination of everything I could ever want in a book. Romance, suspense, and yes, sex! So I left that night with a signed copy of  Tailspin — her 80th published novel, some great pictures, and a renewed sense of what my true purpose, or calling, in life is. I AM a writer. Whether or not I ever get published, I AM a writer. I don’t aspire to be, I write therefore I AM.

Things have seemingly calmed down, and my life and mood are beginning to return to normal, with the help of my “happy” pills, as a dear friend of mine refers to them. (Love you wee woman) I am no longer ashamed to admit that. I think part of removing the stigma of mental health is owning it and talking about it.

As I was leaving the house for work today I decided today is the day. I’m going to take back what was stolen from me. I am going to have the courage to crawl out of the dark hole I’ve been living in and do what makes me happy.

What makes me happy?

Words. Stories. Love. Romance. Happy endings. Two people finding love against all odds. This is what drives me. I am going to grab it and hold on for dear life.

The struggle is real, folks. It’s debilitating. If you have a loved one struggling, reach out. It may only take a minute of your time, but it could mean a lifetime of time for someone else.

To start off my new journey of re-discovering myself, my talent, and what I’m capable of, I’d like to share a short story I wrote. It’s the last thing I wrote before my hiatus. I hope you enjoy.

 

 

A Shore Kind of Love

Death bed promises. They’re promises that can never be broken — never should be broken. They are sacred. One such promise is the reason I’m on a six-hour road trip to the Jersey shore only minutes after laying my grandmother to rest.

My departure did not go over well with my mother. To say she was pissed would be the understatement of the year, but to look at her, you’d never know.

Unless you were me.

I’m the only one who can see behind the façade. Her hard, steel-gray eyes give her away every time. It’s an expression she reserves strictly for me. Mother is the picture of decorum. If you looked up the word proper in the dictionary, next to it would be a picture of my mother, Janet Louise Trescott Westbrook-Harrington. It’s a mouthful, I know, but in her warped mind it gives her an aire of prestige. Appearances, after all, are everything. It’s the only thing that matters to Janet. I swear the woman has ice water running through her veins. She waited until the church cleared before she let her fangs show. Her friends never saw the real Janet. No, she saved that for me, her only child. The son she never wanted. The memory of her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping against the hardwood floor of the church, as she berated me for leaving, renews my anger, giving me a brief respite from my grief.

I chug back another energy drink, crumpling the now empty can against my forehead, and toss it on the passenger side floor of my truck. It’s an old beat up Ford that once belonged to my grandfather and I love it. Sure, I could afford a brand new one, but when I drive this truck, it’s as if Gramps is riding with me. The icing on the cake, of course, is that it makes my mother crazy. In the eyes of my mother and stepfather, your worth is determined by what car you drive and the people who suck up to you. I laugh because if Janet could see me now, she’d be mortified. Grams, on the other hand, would’ve given me a high-five because we were two peas in a pod. My mother and I, however, never got along. She didn’t understand me. She didn’t know me, but then again, she never took the time to try. Not like Grams did. She’s the one who raised me. Over the years people often mistook her as my mother, but grandmother is such a better word because Lilly Trescott was grand. The grandest woman I had ever known. I was never able to figure out how my mother turned out the way she did having Grams for a mother. If there ever was a case for nature in the nature vs. nurture debate, it would be my mother.

Her final words before I drove off keep echoing in my ears, “Your grandmother would be so disappointed in you, Benjamin. How am I going to explain your absence at the repass to my friends?” Her statement was proof that she didn’t know me or her own mother at all. There was no point in arguing with her, so I just smiled. A trick that, once I learned it’s effect on her, I used all the time. She hated it. It drove her insane that her words could never shake me. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You always do. I’ll see you at the graveside service, but then I’m leaving. Goodbye, Mother.”

Grams was the only reason I ever came home in between assignments, and now that she’s gone, there’s no reason for me to ever go back there. I’m sure it didn’t escape my mother’s attention that my truck was packed with what little of my things remained at my childhood home and the belongings Grams wanted me to have. I will always cherish the things she left me, but the greatest gift was her final words. She entrusted me with a very important secret, something she never told another soul, whispered to me minutes before she took her final breath. It never occurred to me when I made her this promise that I’d have to fulfill it so soon.

Thoughts of my mother are quickly replaced with the memory of Gram’s final moments. I had gotten the call to come home four days ago. I drove all night and prayed every inch I drove that I’d make it in time to say goodbye. It was three in the morning when I arrived. The beeping of the monitors stood out in contrast to the stillness of the tiny room. It hadn’t surprised me one bit that she was alone. I pulled a chair as close to her bed as I could get, then took her tiny hand in mine. I kissed the back of it and her eyes fluttered open. The smile that filled my childhood memories appeared for one last time.

In the privacy of my truck, I let my emotions have reign. Tears were never allowed in the presence of my mother. To her, they were a sign of weakness. They trickle down my face, taking a big final plunge onto my pants once they reach my chin. I can still feel the tickle of her lips against my ear as she whispered, “My dear, sweet Ben. I am so proud of you. You’re a good man. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Do you remember a reason, a season, and a lifetime?”

I shook my head.

Grams always told me that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. “There are lessons to be learned from each, so pay attention,” she used to say, “let go when you need to let go and hold on when you feel it in your bones.”

She lifted her arm and cupped my cheek with her free hand, a move that took what was left of her strength.

“You, your mother, and your grandfather were my lifetimes. Watching you grow up was the greatest joy of my life. I will always be right here,” she said, tapping the spot where my heart was beating way too fast, “I know your mother’s difficult. God knows I tried so hard with her, but she’s wired different from us. Have mercy on her. She loves you in her own way. Love is a funny thing and not everyone expresses it the way we’d like them to. I loved your grandfather with my whole heart, and I’m anxious to get back to him. I hope to see your father, too. He was a good man. I know you don’t remember him, but he made my daughter a better person. A happy person. The three of you were thick as thieves before the accident. He took her heart with him when he died. That’s why it was so hard for her to show her love. You could have been his twin. It’s sad, but I think sometimes it hurts her to look at you.”

She stopped and took a deep breath. It was becoming harder for her to breathe. I tried to get the nurse, but she hushed me and told me to listen.

“My time is up Benny Boy, but I have some unfinished business I need you to take care of for me. Your grandfather was my one true love, but he wasn’t my first love. There was a season of my life where I fell in love with a beautiful boy named Jake.” She grabbed my hand and placed a key in it. “Take this to the bank. It opens a safe-deposit box. Promise me that you’ll follow the instructions I left.”

“I promise, Grams,” I said as I kissed her forehead.

“I love you, Ben,” she exhaled, the last words she’d ever speak. I was honored to have been the last person to hear them.

The next day while my mother was busy planning the funeral, I went to the bank to find out exactly what I had promised Grams. I wasn’t nervous…well, maybe a little. Whatever it was that she wanted me to do, I knew in my heart would be an adventure. That was our thing. We always went on the greatest adventures together. She’s the reason why I do what I do. Traveling the world, searching for the next great adventure, and photographing it for the world to see. My hands shook as I turned the key and pulled out the long, metal box. The bank attendant walked me to a small, private room. I placed the box on a table, unlocked it, and then paused a moment before opening it. Inside I found a necklace, an envelope addressed to me, and a life insurance policy naming me as the sole beneficiary. The necklace was old. Probably an antique or family heirloom.

I picked up the envelope with my name scrawled across it in Gram’s handwriting. I slid my finger in the corner and ran it across the length of it, releasing the seal. When I pulled out the letter, Gram’s perfume filled the room. A light citrus scent that reminded me of summers and picnics and trips to the lake.

In her letter, she told me of the summer her and her family went to the Jersey shore. She was seventeen. They rented a house on the beach. She fell in love with a local boy who vowed to come and get her once they graduated high school. He gave her a necklace and asked her to wait for him. She told him she would, but as the days turned to months, and the months to a year, it became clear that she would never see him again. She had written him twelve letters and received not one back. She explained that she didn’t know why she kept the necklace all those years, but she couldn’t let it go. She had tried many times to work up the courage to return it but never did. She said that even though they didn’t end up together, their season had taught her how to love. It was a lesson that served her well and lead her to her one true love. When she was twenty-one she set out on a road trip to return Jake’s necklace, but only got as far as the next town over, where she met Gramps. A flat tire threw a wrench in her travel plans and led her straight into the arms of the man who rescued her that day. My Gramps. She made me promise to finish her road trip and return the necklace on her behalf.

After leaving the bank, I headed to our favorite diner, pulled out my laptop, and got to work on finding out everything I could about Jacob Turner. Much to my dismay, I found an obituary. His funeral was the day after Gram’s. If I wanted to return the necklace to his family, I’d only have one chance — I had to go to his funeral.

As I drove towards my destination, my thoughts returned to Gram’s favorite saying:  a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Growing up, it was a hard concept to wrap my head around, but being at her funeral, it all became clear. The church was filled with people. Some I knew very well. Others I didn’t know at all. I was blessed with stories about how Grams had touched the lives of so many people. Her reasons. Her seasons. Her lifetimes. All gathered in one place to pay their respects. It got me thinking about my own life and the people who had come and gone out of it. My father. A man I never got the chance to know. My mother, who had been there my whole life, yet I didn’t really know her at all. My grandparents. The people who raised me and showed me love. Friends. Most of my childhood friends have long since moved on. There are a few I keep in contact with, but the two best friends I have I met in college. Women. There have been many that have come and gone. Some stayed longer than others, but there was never one I felt the need to hold on to. I’d never yet had that deep feeling in my bones that Grams always talked about. Maybe I never would.

A computerized woman’s voice blared from my phone, snapping me out of my daze, “In two miles, take the exit on the right.”

According to my GPS, I would be at my destination in thirty minutes — the beach house that Grams had stayed at when she was seventeen. She purchased it a few years ago, and now it belonged to me. I followed the directions, driving through a quaint, little beach town and pulled into the driveway of a cute, little bungalow. It was dark, but the moonlight revealed that the front yard was a bed of pink and white sea shells. It was bordered by a make-shift fence that consisted of white posts with thick, brown coiled rope between them. It was very nautical.

After hours of driving I was anxious to stretch my legs. I threw the truck into park and jumped out. I stretched my arms up to the sky and then bent over and reached for my toes. My muscles stretched, and the blood began to flow again. I fished the key that Grams had left in the envelope out of my pants pocket.  I followed the sandy path that led from the driveway to the front door. I pulled a flashlight out of my bag since I hadn’t had time to call and have the power turned on and unlocked the door. Once inside I tried the switch on the wall, and, to my surprise, the lights came on. The nautical theme on the outside continued to the inside. It was very charming, and I immediately fell in love with it. There was a living room, a decent sized kitchen with a breakfast bar, two bedrooms, and a small bathroom. The best feature was the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door with a five-star view of the ocean. It was breathtaking.

I opened the door and stepped outside. It only took a few steps for me to be on the beach. I inhaled the salty air. The crashing of the waves against the shore was soothing and hypnotic. No wonder Grams loved this place so much. It’s heaven. My fingers itched for my camera, but fatigue won the battle, so I headed for the bedroom instead. I did own this place, after all, so there’d be plenty of time for pictures later. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. I would return the necklace and finally give Grams peace.

*****

Waking to the crooning song of the seagulls, I found, was much better than waking up to the blaring of the alarm on my phone. I had slept with the windows open, so the salty, morning breeze was now greeting me. I had never slept so peacefully before. It left me refreshed and eager to start the day. I pulled on a pair of sweats and a tank, put on my running shoes, and headed for the beach.

Five miles later, I was collapsing on the soft sand in front of my bungalow. My lungs burned, and my muscles ached, but it was proof that I was alive. No matter how much pain or loss I had suffered, I was still here. Life was not done with me yet, there were still lessons to be learned. There was nothing quite like the high of pushing your body to its limits to put things into perspective. It was freeing.

Once my breathing returned to normal, I sat up, placing my arms on my knees. The sun was just peaking up over the horizon. The sky blazed a brilliant orange with streaks of pink and blue. I was about to run and get my camera when something…or rather, someone, in my peripheral vision caught my attention. The rising sun created a halo of light around her. She was so breathtaking I wanted nothing more than to run to her, but I hesitated. She was watching the sunrise with such reverence it felt like I was intruding on a personal moment. Instead I stood there like an awkward, love-sick teenager, gawking. She withdrew her feet from her sandals and walked towards the water. Her long blond hair cascaded down her back, reflecting the rising sun. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a piece a paper. A picture maybe? She drew it up to her lips, kissed it, then bent down and put it in the water. After it floated out to sea, she put her sandals back on and walked down the beach.

The feeling I had been waiting my entire life for…that bone-deep feeling…attacked my body, taking me by surprise. Again, I had the overwhelming desire to run after her, but my feet stood frozen in the sand. When she was nothing but a dot on the horizon, I regained the ability to breathe and move again. Kicking myself for being such a coward, I went back inside to get ready for the day.

Dressed in the suit I wore to Gram’s funeral, the necklace in my jacket pocket, I got in my truck. My first stop was to a little café I saw the night before on my drive into town. If I was going to get through this day, caffeine was a must. I entered the little mom and pop shop and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans assaulted me. It was heavenly. Signs above the register boasted that they had “The best pork roll sandwiches in three counties.” My stomach growled. Pork roll, egg, and cheese it is.

With my large coffee and breakfast sandwich wrapped in tinfoil, I took a seat by the window overlooking the street, my back to the door. It was crowded for how early it was, and I was thankful to have gotten the last table. A few bites into my breakfast the bell over the door jingled, alerting the staff to another patron. I drew my eyes from the busy street to the counter and almost choked on my sandwich when a vision of beauty was standing not ten feet from me. My beach angel. My eyes remained focused on her while she placed her order. The café was so small, allowing her voice to carry through the room. It was soft and comforting and sexy as hell. The kind woman behind the register with the curly gray hair and rosy cheeks handed her a large black coffee and one of their famous sandwiches.

She paid the woman and placed a few dollar bills into the tip jar before turning around. Her eyes raked over the tables, looking for a place to sit, when her gaze landed on me. She frowned and headed for the door. This is your chance, don’t blow it. I turned to face the door, my mind racing trying to find the perfect words, but instead I blurted out, “I’m an extra chair.” She smiled softly at my tongue-tied invitation and took the seat across from me.

“Obviously, I’m not a chair,” I laughed.

“No, you most certainly are not. A gentleman is more like it. Thanks for inviting me to sit with you.”

“My pleasure. I couldn’t help but notice you frowned when you saw me sitting at this table, so I’m surprised you agreed to join me.”

“The frown wasn’t directed at you, but at the table.”

“Do you have a beef with the table?” I joke.

“Not the table, the fact that it was taken. This is kind of my table. My initials are carved in a heart,” she points to a spot underneath my hand, “right there.”

She had barely touched me with her index finger, but the spot where our bodies connected burned hotter than the sun. It knocked me out of my socks and that is something that had never happened to me before. It was exhilarating, and I found myself craving more.

“I see. Well, thank you for sharing your table with me. My name is Ben.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben. My name is –”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

“Go for it,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

I glanced down at the heart holding her initials and then back up to her.

“Laura?”

“Nope. Try again.”

“Lynn?”

She shook her head, indicating I was wrong, again.

“Libby?”

“Man, you’re really bad at this. Lilly. My name is Lilly.”

Her words weaved a magic spell. The hustle and bustle of the tiny café stopped. The movement of everyone around me ceased. Time stood still. The only sound was her voice saying the most beautiful name in existence. If I believed in fate, this would be what it looked like. My ears continued to block out all sound. Her lips were still moving. Concern was etched across her beautiful face, her emerald-green eyes filled with a puzzled expression. She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine, and only then did my world come back into focus.

“Ben, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that…Lilly was my grandmother’s name. It suits you.”

“When did you lose her?”

“Am I that apparent?”

She tilted her head to the side, shrugged her shoulders, and nodded affirmatively with an expression that said, “I’m sorry, but yeah.”

“We buried her yesterday.”

Pain that was all too familiar replaced the concern that was etched across her delicate features. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It was nice to meet you, but I’ve got someplace I need to be.”

She rose from her chair, gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and walked out the door. It all happened so fast I barely had time to register that she was leaving. My grandmother’s words echoed in my ears, “Let go when you need to let go, but hold on when you feel it in your bones.” I jumped up out of my chair and raced out the door. When I got to the street, she was getting in her car. “Lilly! Wait!” I cried out. My forceful outburst surprising her. She smiled when she saw it was me. “When can I see you again?” I asked.

“I’m here every Saturday,” she said before getting in her car and driving away.

I hadn’t planned on staying past tomorrow, but my bones were talking so I had to listen.

My change of plans would require me to do some shopping, since there was no food in the bungalow. I pulled out my phone to check the time and cursed under my breath. I needed to get to the funeral home. I typed the address into my phone as I walked to my truck. I did another search for local grocery stores and did a few quick calculations and determined that I’d have plenty of time to make the early viewing and then go shopping. There was just one more thing I needed to do –contact my editor. If he didn’t go for a last-minute change to next month’s article, then I was screwed. I’d have to leave even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Once in my truck, I switched my phone to hands-free and pulled out onto Main Street. There could have been a swarm of bees residing in my stomach for how nervous I was. He finally answered on the fourth ring.

“Benny Boy, how’s it hangin’ my man? So sorry about your grandmother. You ready to head back to the Meramec Caverns to finish your piece?”

“Listen, Mack, something’s come up. It’s very important. Secret, death-bed promises kind of important. What would you say if I wanted to change my piece to something on the Jersey shore beaches?”

There was an awkward pause and then Mack’s signature laugh – the man was so laid back his voice had a perpetual mellow tone, like he was stoned.

“You know I trust your instincts, man. Just make sure to meet your deadline.”

“Have I ever missed one before?”

“No, man, but don’t start now. I’ll catch you later. Hit me up when you’re back in town.”

The phone disconnected before I could respond. Typical Mack. He was always marching full steam ahead towards the next project, never looking back.

As I followed the GPS directions through the small, beach town towards the funeral home, I tried to take in as much of the sights as I could. My mind was in research mode, trying to come up with a good subject for my article. I was stopped at a traffic light when the idea walked right in front of my truck. A group of surfers, carrying their boards, headed to the beach. It was perfect, and I wouldn’t even have to go too far from my own back yard. Little by little everything was falling into place. Gram’s last wish would soon be fulfilled. Work was good. And then there was Lilly. Merely thinking her name conjured a smile so huge I was sure it covered my entire face. I’d never in my life wanted to run head first into anything. Ever. Until her.

The funeral home was a beautiful building. It screamed comfort with its large covered porch, decorated with hanging flower pots. The brick that covered the front gave it an air of strength, as if it was saying to those who were grieving, “Come inside, I will support you in your time of need.” I pulled into a parking space near the back, not wanting to take up a closer space out of respect for the family. Nerves kept me from getting out of my truck. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my grandmother, but I prayed that carrying out her final wish wouldn’t cause any pain to the unsuspecting, grieving family inside. If Grams was right, and this was a family heirloom, certainly they’d be pleased to get it back, right?

As I was sitting waiting for my courage to kick in, a blue sedan pulled in. It parked up front in the spots designated for immediate family. The door swung open and out stepped my beach angel. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. She opened the back-passenger door and reached in to pull out what appeared to be a photo album. She closed the car door and then hugged the album to her chest. I expected her to continue moving forward but was surprised when she dropped to the ground. I jumped out of the car, running towards her at full speed, trying desperately to close the distance between us. When I got to her she was still on the ground, a heaving, sobbing mess.

Without hesitation I sat next to her and pulled her into my lap. She froze at first, but then acquiesced when she saw it was me. My heart melted. “Ben? What are you doing here?” she sobbed, “How – How did you find me?”

“I came here to carry out my grandmother’s last request. Running into you, well, that was fate. Tell me, are you related to Jacob Turner?”

“He was my grandfather. Wait. How did you know my grandfather?” she asked, her thick lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Her green eyes hypnotizing me.

“I didn’t, my grandmother did. I came here to return this,” I replied, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the necklace.

“That necklace belonged to my great great grandfather. It had been passed down from generation to generation. It was expected that the eldest Turner male would give it to his one true love. We all thought it had been lost. How did you get it?”

“Your grandfather gave it to my grandmother. They met one summer at the beach when they were seventeen. Before she left he gave her this and promised to come for her when they graduated. She wrote him twelve letters over the course of a year, but he never wrote back. She started out on a road trip to return it when she was twenty-one, but she never made it past the next town. Her car got a flat tire and she ended up falling in love with the man who rescued her. It was her final wish that I return it to your family.”

“I can’t believe she kept it all those years. My mom will be so pleased to get this back. Thank you.”

“She told me she kept it because it brought her to her one true love. She always said that people –”

“Come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime,” she interrupted me, stealing my words, rendering me speechless, “Lilly was my grandfather’s season. The season he learned how to love and let go. He never forgot her.”

“And she never forgot him. She told me that she hoped this necklace would be as lucky for me as it was for her. All signs point to her being right.”

She squirmed a little in my lap, bringing to light the awkwardness of our current situation but despite the awkwardness, she made no attempt to get up. A few moments passed, then she said, “What makes you say that?”

The confidence that her staying in my embrace gave me, faded at her words. Maybe I was just imaging the connection I thought we had. I mean, we were two strangers after all, yet I never felt more comfortable with anyone in my entire life…other than Grams. This was all happening so fast. Is this how love happens? Quick as a lightening bolt in a stormy sky? This woman who I barely know has lit up my life during one of my most trying, darkest times. Even if she rejects me or thinks I’m crazy, I need to tell her how I feel. My words get stuck in my throat as I try to answer her question. I swallow hard, pushing down my fear. They’re on the tip of my tongue, begging for permission to be spoken. Go for it, Ben. It’s now or never.

“I was there on the beach this morning and the moment I laid eyes on you, something in here shifted,” I explain, touching my heart, “I thought I lost my chance when I watched you walk away, but then you showed up at the café. When our hands touched, I knew I’d never be able to let you go. I found my forever, Lilly. My lifetime.”

The End