I wriggle a bit and lift my sweaty legs off the coarse, cotton deckchair. To think I used to just spread a towel on the grainy sand, lather myself with coconut oil and lie there all day! Now, I can’t seem to stay comfortable even reclining in my bougie deck chair.
The whistle of the lifeguards keeps waking me up. I can’t seem to stay awake though. It’s probably the medication I’m on. And the sun.
I try and focus so that I don’t drift off again. The kids next to me are making sandcastles with square buckets so the castles look more like stepped pyramids. It makes me remember visiting Egypt. I can smell the camels that gave us tourists rides in the searing heat. I can smell the sweat too as we toured the unair-conditioned Egyptian Museum. I read recently that they just opened a new Museum in Cairo – many years late and way over budget. I assume they installed air-conditioning in that one. I can hear the Cairo car horns too. Traffic going every which way. Manic.
Mindfulness, Cam. I chide myself. I am supposed to be manifesting tranquillity. I am at the beach for goodness sake yet I am dreaming about chaotic Cairo!
‘How are you feeling Cam?’ My wife, Julie, plants a kiss on my cheek. Her lips are sandy and I have to resist the urge to wipe the scratchy sand residue off my cheek. Julie is wearing her new, constant, concerned look.
‘All good Jules. All good. Stop your worrying. It’s a bad habit. I’m not going to die on you today. Stop fussing over me. I’m going to take a dip.’
Poor Jules. She looks a bit wounded now. I was just trying to lighten the mood.
I’ve taken to talking to myself since my diagnosis. A lot. Sometimes out loud but usually just silently in my head. I think it’s my way of conversing with someone who won’t panic every time I open my mouth.
Ooh, that water is refreshing as it hits my feet and shins.
I wade in deeper and let the gentle waves wash over me.
They’re always worrying about me nowadays. Jules. The kids.
The doctors have said there is no hope. No magic wand. Just a matter of time and something they call ‘comfort medication.’ I wonder if it would be better all round if I hastened things along? I could just let the water carry me away.
I surrender to the waves and I feel myself slipping away.
Get a grip Cam. Do you want to die here and spoil the beach forever for Jules and the kids and the grandkids? Man up!
About the author
Leonie Jarrett lives in Melbourne, Australia with her Husband of more than three decades, two of her four adult children and her two Golden Retrievers. Leonie is a lawyer and has owned several businesses. Now that she is semi-retired, Leonie is loving writing rivers of words.
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