Synchronicity At Play on Virginia Beach
Synchronicity At Play on Virginia Beach
Synchronicity is my playmate, especially when I listen, watch or intuit. Surprises co-exist with an inner recognition as I reflect on a recent synchronistic encounter.
Picture me writing outside on my deck when my intuition interrupted me with the words “beach time.”
I quickly put on my bathing suit and walked twenty feet to Virginia Beach since merging pleasure and leisure is one of my current lessons.
The tide was coming in and I watched a woman toss bread to the hungry seagulls. I clapped as one caught a piece of bread crust in mid air. She got up from her chair and walked over to my blanket. We greeted each other as naturally as children do when they meet each other as strangers at a park or playground.
“Are you from around here?” she asked politely.
“Right down the street,” I said.
“And you?” I inquired.
“I was born here. My Dad was in the Navy. Actually I was born in the old hospital that used to be on 21st Street. Now I live in Asheville, North Carolina.
“So you have come home?” I responded.
“Guess you can say that. I’ve come back to the ocean. I hope it can bring healing and some resolution to my shattered life,” she added as she closed her eyes and bowed her head.
“Water is a natural healer,” I said. “No expectations and it will support you while you float.”
We both looked away from each other and out toward the crashing waves.
“I am trying to put my life back together. It’s complicated. My husband of 34 years died six months ago. We were separated when he learned that he was dying. He moved out and we did not reconcile. I have four grown children and they are the best. The school I worked at put me on a leave of absence and said I was too distracted to work. Her words were labored and felt chiseled with grief.
Since I realized that I was on “God’s time” which is always aligned with synchronicity, I asked,
“So you are free to choose who you want to be and what you desire to do now?”
“Not exactly…. Well, maybe if I were not so exhausted from selling the house, disposing of all his precious belongings, and dealing with the myriad details of death.” She sighed.
I reached out to hold her hand saying, “Grief is demanding in all ways: emotionally, mentally, socially and spiritually. And I can imagine that your decision to separate from your husband before either of you knew he was dying makes your grief really complicated.”
“Exactly, we did not do a legal separation although we both knew our marriage was done. Consequently, I don’t know if I am an ex-wife, a widow, or still his wife. And family, friends and even people who did not know us have stories about who I should be. And I will run smack into the middle of all their stories as well as my own memories next weekend when everyone gathers to celebrate his life at a memorial service.
She took a breath and said, “I can’t believe I have just told you my whole story and we are not even on a plane.”
“I’m curious, if you had one wish about how you might live the next few years of your life, what would it be?”
Without thinking, she replied, “I would write. I’ve always wanted to be a writer and there never was enough time. But I don’t know if I am being realistic or just running away from my life.”
I shrugged and smiled at her.
“I have another question for you. Are you game?”
“Sure, why not? It seems like we were destined to meet and become beach buddies,” she replied.
“I wonder if you dare to risk being delighted?”
She sighed and then said, “Nobody ever asked me that question before. But I get survivor’s benefits so I can support myself financially if I am frugal.”
I nodded my head and then said, “I am a writer and I would have deep regrets if I had not followed my dream of being a writer.”
“What motivated you to write?” she asked.
“The sudden death of my 14 year old son, Mike. I desperately needed to create meaning and figure out a way to heal my broken heart and learn how to trust life, God, and the future again.”
She sighed and then I sighed. Then she said, “I knew you were wise. A passion for writing and living through grief are two things that we share.”
“Yes, “ I said and I think we have another belief in common.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“We both believe in the possibility of healing and we both returned to the ocean to promote our healing. I am glad you escaped to the beach, “ I said quietly. Want to go for a swim?”
“Someone warned me of the undertow earlier,” she said.
“Can you swim? “ I asked.
“Of course, “ she replied with a slight smile.
“How about you?”
“I am a strong swimmer and also a cautious one. Besides how can we expect the ocean to heal us if we don’t jump in?”
We scrambled to our feet and ran to the water’s edge hand in hand. The last sound I remember as I dove into an oncoming wave was the sound of our laughter.