A lifeline in the wind

As the wind teased my hair up and out like ferocious flames leaping off my scalp, I stared in astonishment.

The beach. It was completely transformed. Where once there was a pale golden stretch of sand, there were trenches built of dark, wet pebbles.

I stomped down the grassy verge towards the bay, feeling the familiarity beneath my running shoes. I knew by now to keep my ankles loose and move with the ups and downs, to avoid going over my ankle and spraining it again.

It brought back visions of two years ago, when Nick had to practically carry me up the embankment to the path and be my human crutch until we completed the gruelling ten-minute gauntlet to our car. Our car. When we still shared possessions.

My careful feet landed with a hollow thud on the only scrap of sand that remained. I edged closer to the enormous embankment of stones, washed up by the angry ocean.

It’s not fair, I thought. How can this be right? Our beach is gone. Buried beneath cold, hard rock.

I scowled at the tempestuous waves which were marching towards me as if warning me not to start anything as they just weren’t in the mood. The wind was at their back offering them unwavering power.

I crouched and touched the nearest, charcoal grey pebble, slick with its coating of salty water. I knew that directly below this mound of stone lay the spot where Nick had proposed. The spot where I had said yes, with absolutely no hesitation. I was embarrassingly keen, to be honest.

We were so happy. He was warm and fun and silly. We’d known each other since college. We had it all planned out – the wedding, the house, possibly a family. We’d just signed on the dotted line for a mortgage for goodness’ sake.

So, when the tide turned on us it was a shock to the system – like getting into the sea at the sharp point of winter. When I read his pathetic apology note the day he left, I gasped, I went numb, I lost my bearings, I struggled to treat water. It was all too much. I could have done with someone throwing a buoyancy aid. I glanced up at the bright orange plastic safety ring on the rocks. Where was my life saver when I was in the depths of heartache?

I crawled onto my knees, feeling stabbing pains as the sharp edges of broken stones dug into my bony flesh. I ambled across them until I was flat out on my stomach, arms stretched wide, the smell of rancid seaweed below my rocky bed oozing up through the cracks and into my nostrils. I didn’t care. Every part of me was desperate to lay out like I had done on so many summer days on this very spot. I imagined the tickly material of a beach towel beneath me and closed my eyes, listening to the whooshing and hissing of the waves, pretending this was just another picnic. Any minute now, Nick would announce it was ‘munch time’ and open the plastic tub with a pop, letting the scent of egg mayonnaise dance with the seaweed fumes. I could almost feel the crunch of sand between my teeth – how it always gets into sandwiches I’ll never know. But in that moment I would have given anything to eat a sandy sandwich, as long as it meant everything was OK again. If Nick was back and these stones were still at the bottom of the ocean, instead of so perversely commandeering our beach.

After a minute of pure discomfort on my front, I clumsily rolled over to sit up and stare out to the horizon. The fact that even my beloved beach had changed so drastically hurt me more than anything had hurt for weeks. It was as if nature was sending me a huge sign that EVERYTHING changes. There is no choice in this life but to adapt.

The dark waves were taunting me. I climbed over the mound of pebbles and found my footing on a flat piece of hard sand – a faint glimmer of the beach I had always known. I couldn’t tell if the tears streaming down my cheeks were because the wind was slapping me bitterly about the face or if they were a symptom of my pain. Either way, they had every right to flow and fall as shy droplets into the salt water which was now licking aggressively at my shoes. Something came over me and I tugged off my trainers and threw them over the stones. I yanked off my clothing next, tearing off a few buttons in the process, sending them tinkling into the holes between pebbles. I laughed through tears as I watched my checked shirt fly on the breeze like a battle flag torn from its pole and land in a rock pool several metres away.

I stood, completely naked, but not vulnerable anymore, facing up to the ocean as it spat salty mist over me. I felt strong. Defiant. I no longer recognised my life. I no longer recognised this former sacred place of mine. I decided in this moment to create someone new. I stepped over the foamy white barrier that edged the sea and committed to this self-inflicted form of baptism. I let out a cry of shock as the water grabbed at my shins with and icy grip. I kept walking, feeling the sand squirm beneath my toes. Occasional pebbles stabbed at my soles, inflicting a satisfying discomfort. None of it felt normal. It felt quite extraordinary.

By the time I was chest deep, being pushed back and forth by the power of the waves, I was laughing and crying at the same time. I felt the shame wash off my tarnished being. Staring out to the far off horizon I was aware of my nothingness. My huge problems felt as small as Bittersweet Clams on the seabed. I smiled and hugged my body, struggling to stand still in the turbulent swell.

A huge wave rose up out of nowhere and, like a wrestler, slammed me down under the current. I emerged, frantic, gasping for air, suddenly frightened and alert. I turned towards the shore and tried to wade out to dry land but the push of the outgoing wave was so powerful I couldn’t move my legs. A fresh wave from behind knocked me onto my knees. Salt water thrust its way past my lips, causing me to choke. All I could see was white froth, with snatched glimpses of the rocky verge I longed to reach – like a desert island with the promise of safety.

The snapshots of vision showed me images of what appeared to be a figure in dark clothing standing on the water’s edge waving desperately to get my attention. I thrust my hand up to signal I had seen them, but I was stuck. I attempted to get back on my feet, only to be shoved back down by yet another unsympathetic blast of water.

A flash of bright orange flew through what I could see of the sky until a plastic ring smacked down on the water next to me. My safety ring. Somebody was throwing me a lifeline. I pounced on it with relief pouring out of me in the form of ugly wailing.

The unknown person dragged me to the sand and threw a thick coat over my naked shoulders, shouting reassuring words over the throb of the tide and the taunting of the wind, which was picking up even more now.

I muttered thank you over and over as they led me to a warm car beyond the grassy path.

That night I lay on my bed, thankful and new. The trauma of the sea had replaced my emotional turmoil. I was fresh. Ready to begin again. Ready to accept that everything changes… and so do I.