Day 408

Today, instead of school, I took Mom and my son out for a day of caching. There were two more of the Adventure Lab caches nearby and I figured while we were out we could pick up a few traditional caches as well. Mom, having heard us talk about the Adventure caches, was curious and she wanted to play too. She even asked me to set up a geocaching profile for her. It was only when we were in the car heading to Riverhead that she told me she used to have a geocaching profile. Dad had set it up for her several years back when we had all gone out together. But she could remember neither her name nor her her log-in information. Since I couldn’t exactly ask Dad for help, I guess it was good I set up a new one for her.

Mom really struggled to walk today. She brought her cane and seemed to rely on it more than usual. Each step looked heavy and painful. She stopped a great deal, and there was an undercurrent of sorrow that followed her like a shadow. At times she tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes. I held back with her as she walked — so much slower than usual — and my son raced ahead to find the questions and to answer them before we could catch up. The locations for the Riverhead Adventure were all relatively close and we completed the set rather quickly. While Mom told me several times that she was having fun, I wondered if it were true or if she was just compensating — wishing that if she said it enough maybe she’d start to feel it.

Several new caches had been placed at Indian Island Park so I suggested that we go there. It was a familiar park, one that we had gone to many times with Dad. I knew there were places Mom could sit if she were in too much pain to walk. The last thing I wanted was for the day to be taxing. But Indian Island turned out to be a bad idea. The moment we entered, we were caught under an avalanche of missing. There were so many memories, so many times Dad had been eager to bring his grandson there to hike, or cache, or have a picnic. As sad as I felt being there without Dad, Mom felt a billion times worse. She didn’t say anything, but I could see it in her her shoulders which bent heavily forward, and the way she limped down to the water. As much as I miss Dad, Mom misses him so much more. She’s consumed with missing, wishing desperately for one more day with him.

Down by the beach, a swan out on the bay spotted us. He paddled over the sand and walked right up to mom. He must of have gotten within two feet of her. “I think your father sent him,” she told me. “Your father loved the swans. I don’t think the swan would have come so close to me if your Dad hadn’t sent him to say hello.” While Mom made friends with a swan, my son found a turtle and he must have spooked the poor thing because the turtle had pulled himself into the shell so tightly there was no coaxing him out.

After collecting several caches — all easy and fun finds — we ate lunch at a picnic table. As I ate, I kept thinking back to Dad’s first Father’s Day as a grandfather, and the picture I had taken there at Indian Island of his holding my son. And my son could have been reading my mind when he broke into my thoughts to comment, “I remember being here and playing at the playground with Grandpa. Grandpa always pushed me on the swings.”

From Indian Island we drove to Southampton to do one more Adventure cache. I do hope they put more out on the Island because they are fun. I didn’t realize that Southampton had been settled so early — just twenty years after the Mayflower landed in Plymouth. And one of the early pilgrims to settle there built a house that still stands — it’s the oldest house on the South Fork.

While walking along one of the main streets, my son stumbled upon one of those Zoltar fortune telling machines outside one of the shops. Crossing the street to get a better look, he exclaimed, “I always wanted to try one of those machines. I wonder what my fortune would be.” Well, I thought it was a waste of money and didn’t mind telling him so. My mother, not wanting him to be disappointed, gave him a dollar to find out what his future held. The automaton rattled off some cliched phrases and then the machine spit out a  yellow ticket. And damn! Maybe there is something to those stupid machines after all. My son’s fortune seemed as if it were aimed at all of us: “You have been holding onto the idea of something or someone in your life that no longer serves you at this time. Doing this is not productive. You hold on because you are afraid or don’t know what’s next for you. Heed my advice dear one: as soon as you let go, the path reveals itself. It is time to embrace the next stage that life has planned for you. Believe me, it is much better than what’s behind you.” Okay, so I honestly can’t believe that something coming would be better than Dad. But maybe there is something to the letting go part. Not forgetting, of course. But maybe it would be best if I tried a little harder not think of how much better things would be if Dad were still alive. If I didn’t dwell constantly on everything my son and I lost. Maybe we’d find happiness a little sooner, if we didn’t continuously make comments like, “Dad would really have loved this. How great it would be if he could share it with us.”