52

"How many weeks until Rockport?", they ask. 52. "That's not so many", Tessa says. And she's right. It's not so far off I suppose. It will have been 25 consecutive years next year that I've been to Long Beach. Walking the length of the 1/2 mile beach, painting rocks, beach Olympics, croquet, lobster dinners, grill outs, boogie boarding... Some of the very best memories of my childhood are on that beach. My most distinct are playing in the waves with my cousins and waking up to that piercing crack of light from the heavy curtains, the sound of lapping waves on the shore, the screech of a seagull and the murmur of the generations before me gathering quietly, planning for the day. I'd look out onto the porch and maybe Aunt Ethel and Aunt Jan would be there walking back from the office to their plastic deck chairs, Nana and Papa already walking Penny back up the beach, mom and Uncle Ned sitting down by the shore, just talking. Everyone playing their part, greeting each other so kindly, so happy just to be there.
Every year is different and every year some of the same. Some people can be there, some have other obligations that tear them away... like Jason, who missed it and felt as pained missing it as I would've. And some are gone forever but their prescience is never felt as strongly as it is there at that Inn. This is where I grew up, where I've measured years and my own life. Where I've weighed possibilities and found deeper understanding and connection to people I love than I could possibly find in a few hours over holiday meal craziness. I've watched great aunts play rummicube late into the night, heard pregnancy announcements and helped plan weddings. I've cuddled with my cousins children on lawn chairs and now I've had the greatest blessing of all... I've watched my children get as much joy as I have.
Last Sunday morning Tessa was the first one on the beach. Suit on, pail in hand, towel over her shoulder, she sauntered onto the sand and laid her claim. As she walked down to the water's edge I heard my Mom and Uncle Jim talking down the way, my brother, Brett, passed by with a coffee, Thatcher said hello to the office parrot, Bert. Tessa stood on a rock covered in seaweed watching the surfers, feeling the safety of generations at her back. A kind of strength in her that the ocean couldn't help but break in front of.