Daybreak

Sunday morning I awoke very early, even earlier than the time my alarm was set for and that was at an hour that I hadn’t started my day at in months. I pulled some clothes on, brushed my teeth and texted my fellow sunrise appreciative vacationer friend to confirm that she was awake and ready to make the walk to the ocean on this last morning of our Wellfleet week.

After her immediate response to my text, I grabbed Jeter’s leash and the three of us made our way in the half light along the sandy road we had traversed countless times before. As we passed the three ponds (Herring, Slough and Horseleech) the sky brightened. Hints of orange began to peek through the grey sky promising a show over the Atlantic.

We climbed the dune between the wooded path and the sandy beach to see the wide open sky. We had made it in time to watch the sun rise.

This last morning of the week, before a breakfast comprised of as many ingredients remaining that we could collectively eat and the packing up of the cars, always makes me weepy.

I don’t want to leave.

On this final morning, I considered why it is so difficult for me to leave this house. While the extended time with friends I share this special place with will be missed, that isn’t the reason for my melancholy. Eating and drinking and lazing in the sun are favorite activities, but I know those pastimes are likely to recur. Bare feet and beaches are seasonal, bound to return again next year.

However, I also know that much can change in a year. The tears that were pricking my eyes were an acknowledgement that this particular week will never again be exactly the same.

But, whatever is?

It’s kind of a joke that the end of summer week on the Cape is Jeter’s vacation. When we’re there, he’s in his element with bodies of water and friends both nearby. Walking the mile to the beach with him, stopping for a dip (or 2) along the way, is one of my most favorite things to do.

The friends with whom I have shared this special house over the years have, like the tide, ebbed and flowed, but there has been one companion who has been consistent – Jeter.

He’s always been there with for me.

I think I cry when I leave this magical property because I’m afraid that, for whatever reason, there will never be another perfectly lazy week spent with my dog on Black Pond Road.

There. I said it. I want that week and my dog to last forever.

The very next morning, Monday, I was home in my own bed to witness the sunrise. Jeter was next to me, as always, when I rolled over to take in this sunrise and there was Rocco, poised on the windowsill seemingly doing precisely the same thing.

There was an unexpected comfort in that, one that I will hold dear.

Tuesday was my first day back at school, the last first day of my career. I readied myself, eating breakfast and sipping coffee until a distinctive chirp beckoned from the front porch. A pair of cardinals, the very birds which will forever prompt me to think of my late Uncle Wolfgang and Aunt Brigitte, were also enjoying their breakfast. Seeing them reminded me that even when we lose those who are important to us, the feelings we shared remain.

Three mornings, three moments, one emotion – love.