Salt water stings my eyes. Knowing I can’t, I employ all my motherly powers and attempt to see both the shore behind me and the waves from the deep. I have a child in both places. One who was born to dance in the face of spray and current, the other who knows his feet belong in the dry sand where his skin is not stung by healing waters. 

Even here, right next to my boy, who is perfect and terrible depending on the minute, I lose sight of golden locks when a wave surprises us and I feel my heart surge. My heart pushes towards the water before my arms can. My heart meets his head as it pops up from the foam, his startled smile spitting out the sea. The many small moments of panic I, as mother, must endure each day, being so connected with what could happen. 

Finally persuaded to return from the thrill of sharks and jellyfish we wade back. Reunited, both boys join in effort to pull me away from my book in hand and toes burrowing in sand. And here we pause, next to pillars that dare to claim being a worthy adversary to what has been since the beginning of time. Man vs. God on display in the form of the underbelly of a pier.

We stand amazed at both the hubris of man and the patience of God.