Healing at Hatteras

Curt's mother passed away Thursday night, very well near midnight. On Friday morning his dad told him we should go ahead with our annual plans to vacation on Hatteras Island. I don't think Curt thought more than twice about it. He needed this time away from what has been a stress-filled year of being a son as well as a health care worker. Since September, he and his sister have shared the work of taking care of their mom, granting her wish to live in her home even if she couldn't control her circumstances.  This long year was made not only bearable for my husband but also blessed by God's grace. 

So we are here, in the village where we've spent seven summer days for the past nine years.

~ Where dear friends Jack and Lois found years of summer solitude and then shared it with us.

~ Where our boys have grown up learning to read low tides and high tides and rip currents and cable TV guides.

~ Where seashells of all sizes are counted as treasure.

~ Where Vicki of Harbor House Seafood ensures that we feast on the finest shrimp and fish and hushpuppies of the year.

~ Where a 4-wheel-drive truck will get you and your chairs, umbrellas, cooler, boogie boards, and fishing poles to the remote beaches.

~ Where the deck chairs and ocean view actually increase your reading rate.

~ Where the sea breeze makes the humidity feel OK.

 ~ Where the only stoplight is for ferry traffic.

~ Where "no shirt, no shoes, no problem" is an actual sign in some shops.

~ Where salt-watery air heals wounds.

~ Where God's imagination is visible in the waves crashing on the shore and the sun setting on the sound and the smooth purple seashells found on the sands.

~ Where heart healing can begin in a land miles away from home, even when your mother is no longer there.