Writing in the Sand

This is a story I should have put into words a long time ago. My trip to Chicago following JP’s death was something I knew I needed to do but also dreaded doing. Seeing his family and being back in the place where we had shared so many memories was going to feel like ripping open a wound that had only started to scab over. To my relief, it was actually the opposite. Being there in the presence of three other people (likely the only three other people) who knew my grief was therapeutic in a way I did not know I needed. It was coming home that proved to be harder.

In addition to grieving in company, I got closure one other way. We drove out to one of his favorite places, the shore at Lake Michigan. There we had a plan to write his initials in the sand, lay his ashes in them, and wait for the shore to wash him away. It was a very slow process. The waters were not in any hurry but we did not feel right leaving until every last bit was washed away so we stayed. While we waited, his sister, Elizabeth and I had started talking. We shared the memories we had with him at Lake Michigan. I recalled the summer we wanted the waves to pick up so we sang “Oh ye, Lakes of Great, shine upon us your greatness!” over and over until we got a big one. We also had a superstition that spitting in the ocean would make bigger waves come. At that memory, Elizabeth and I stepped up to the shore and did exactly that, just for the laughs. We moved onto the goofy nicknames he had curated for us. He called her “Liza-Bye-th” and would call me “Christin.” This led us to the memories of playing Mario Party. For whatever reason, we had some issues with Donkey Kong. He was annoying to us. So, to “disrespect” his name we called him Honkey Fonk. Elizabeth and I laughed at the silliness of it all. There were so few memories she and I shared with him. When we were together, JP and I usually split off to do our own thing. But she enjoyed watching us play video games so this was a rare memory we shared as a trio. Eventually we decided he was fully washed away and we started our walk back up the beach toward my husband and two boys playing. On the walk, Elizabeth pointed out some large letters in the sand. “What does that say?” she stopped, “Donkey… Donkey Kong?”

Sure enough, in large bold letters facing out toward the waters was the name DONKEY KONG written in the sand. With mouths hanging open, we took a moment to process just what we were seeing. There were a few people on the beach but all sitting on blankets doing their own thing. The only one playing in the sand around there was my 4-year-old. He certainly wasn't capable of that. Even if someone else had been around to write it, why would anyone write “donkey kong” in the sand? My first instincts were to cry but all I could do was laugh. Of course John Paul would be able to make me laugh from the afterlife. I laughed and cried and then decided to respond to his message.

Looking at Elizabeth I said, “you know what we have to do right?’

“Change it to Honkey Fonk?”

“Yup!”

So after taking pictures of his original artwork we used our feet to carve an H over the D, an F over the K and a K over the G. Then we took more pictures of our message back to him.

Leaving there, I had an overwhelming sense of closure and peace. He was Okay.