Here we are – Hilton Head, 2018.

Before.

I use two ‘befores’ now. 

“Before he got sick” is any time prior to June 14, 2019 – the day we learned Mike had cancer.

The other, of course, is the day he died, and means the period between June 14, 2019, and November 2, 2022. 

He’s wearing a jacket, the ever-present orange hat, and his little half-smile. He didn’t love the beach [first]before, but came to love it [second] before.

He was willing – for me, the beach lover – to see the beach with new eyes. I’m grateful for beach memories with him.

I left the beach Saturday, wishing I could stay.

Mike, on the other hand, was always ready to go home. Maybe he lived in the present more than I do, appreciating what he had when he had it. Maybe he was more of a homebody.

He really did know how to stay in the now. He worried about what might happen if he didn’t do this or that. And when nothing bad happened, he took credit. His worrying prevented the awful-horrible-terrible thing.

He wasn’t a Boy Scout … but was always prepared. Contingency plans were in his doctor’s bag.

Mike didn't love the beach as I do. It was a drinking trigger for him before I met him, so I didn't push ocean vacations for a long time.

In 2008, we spent time on Florida beaches while visiting my dad. Beachwalking was a daily activity, as was eating fresh seafood.

He was hooked.

Together, we enjoyed Pawley's Island, Hilton Head, Kitty Hawk. He ate his weight in clams, shrimp, and scallops, then walked it off.

I’m at the beach now. I saw the sunrise and turtle hatchlings this morning, and wished he was here. 

Actually, I think he is.