Ah, Kiawah Island.  I could not wait to get there.  Huge shade trees.  Quiet.  The house we rented looked wonderful on the computer.  It was great.  A little bit eighties, but perfect for our bunch.  Large kitchen with island and ocean view.  Game room where all the young’uns could be as loud as they wanted.  Hot tub (where they swam with goggles on.)  Bed rooms set up so everyone -fourteen of us- was happy; especially Callum who got to room with his cool cousin Aiden.  Cullen, Lachlan, and I had a large bedroom that was far enough away from everyone so that we could have quiet.  It had a nice balcony where you could watch the waves through a massive sprawling tree that grew up through the large deck below and dipped its gnarled fingers down low enough to swing from.  Beautiful.  My boys are here.  My loved ones are here, including seven more beloved in-laws in a house six doors down.  We made it.  Now I could relax.  I walked out onto the deck and looked down and low-and-behold —CONSTRUCTION, right next door.  I wish I was kidding.  Our lovely ‘morning coffee on the deck with the sounds of the ocean’ moments were oh-so-charmingly mingled with the serenade of hammers and the occasional blurt of the workers poor choice in vocabulary.  It was a really special treat the day they brought out the tile saw.  We were all yelling at each other over breakfast on the deck.  Some gave up and went inside.  It brought back memories of the past; trying to have conversations over the music in dance clubs.  My sister and my niece tried to talk with them, tell them we needed some peace, and ask if they could just move their trailer and saws to another part of the property.  It was a huge property.  The workers seemed conducive, but the foreman, (foreWOMAN) in this case,  said she ‘didn’t care what was going on next door…she wasn’t moving.’  Nice.  It made me sad.  But, hey, she didn’t understand the situation.  That means she has not had to deal with these feelings.  I wouldn’t wish it on her.  I hope if she is ever in a similar situation, she is shown more kindness than she afforded us.  After several days it was actually a source of laughter… every time the port-o-potty door slammed.

The situation next door was a very tangible reminder that life goes on.  The world won’t stop for me, for my son.  It can’t.  Life is constant motion.  Just like the waves I stared through for hours.  To me they said, ‘We come.  We go.  We roar.  We are silent.  We crash.  We caress.  We are angry.  We are loving.  We take life.  We give life.  We are wicked.  We are beauty.  We come.  We go.  We come.  We go.’

Life.  We come.  We go.