Flickers of Light
Photo Courtesy | Colleen Tirtirian
BY COLLEEN TIRTIRIAN
The dock bumped beneath us with the flow of the tide. I steadied my feet and grabbed my children’s hands. “Do not let go,” I quietly pleaded with them as they pulled me toward the small boat. “No. No. Don’t pull me. I lead here and you follow,” I told them, though my subconscious reminded me that I am no kind of leader. I am just good at faking it when it matters.
“But Mommy, we can do it alone!” My daughter stomped in defiance while my son nodded in agreement. They turned five earlier this summer, and since then, we have been deep in another “I’ve got this” stage. While I appreciate their fierce independence at times, I remind them that being surrounded by mucky water on a narrow platform is not the time and place for it. I turn my head to my husband and see him still in the parking lot, pulling whatever luggage he can manage in one go. “Thank you,” I mouth to him.
We were en-route to vacation just off the coast of Maine. After five hours on the road, we were finally near our destination and had one last leg to complete. We’d be staying on an island for a week; a sparsely populated blip of land that relies on golf carts and bikes to get around. The city girl in me was looking forward to this change of pace, despite any nerves I had about taking our children on such an adventure. At least we weren’t camping in a tent, I reassured myself. I could handle this.
We loaded into the small water taxi that would take us to the inn, a place where we could squeeze out the last vestiges of summer. It was the kids’ first time on a boat, so naturally, I thought of everything that could go wrong in the blink of an eye. It’s just how I operate. My first thought was that they’d somehow be jolted from the dock and thrown into the water. Relieved that we dodged that potential hazard, I held my breath and held tightly to their life jackets, one child sitting on either side of me and my husband across from us, capturing the moment on his iPhone. My next worry was that we’d hit some rogue wave and be flung into the icy water. Once again, I reassured myself that this was not the ocean and that we’d be fine. Just a fleeting thought.
Our captain for the short ride was a quiet woman who smiled at us but didn’t say much. She turned her head every few minutes, likely to make sure we were still aboard, given the speed at which we moved. The air was crisp and clean as we moved across the bay and the kids squealed with glee as the wind tickled their faces. I still clutched to their life jackets as we went across the slightly choppy water. I know I won’t always have to – or get to — hold them like this. One day, they will take care of themselves. It occurs to me that time is precious and, despite the nerves of putting my kids on a boat with no exact idea of what our destination holds, I loosen my grip just enough to feel my body relax but not so much that I’m not holding on.
We wait at the other side of the dock and a man greets us to bring us to the inn. On the way over, the kids spot the pool and immediately make it clear that it’s where they want to go. It’s their vacation, too, I remind myself. We settle into the room a bit and head to the pool. I ask my husband to watch the kids so I can take a walk to explore the island. The inn itself is a converted fort that was manned during the Spanish-American War, WWI, and WWII. Many of the other remaining buildings are private residences now, though remnants of a bygone era remain dotted throughout the area. At every turn, I spot another crumbling concrete building. I wonder what kind of memories these places hold.
I continue along the dirt road, and take a moment to breathe deep and allow the clean air to circulate through my body. The city girl side of me is so appreciative to have time away from the noise of cars and to exchange concrete for trees, sand, and dirt sparkling with mica. These roads seem to glow as the sun peeks through the trees. I think about the fleetingness of life, as I sometimes do. I don’t do it to be morbid — more as a way to remind myself that these are precious moments. I do my best to grab onto them while they last. Still, I work to balance that heaviness with lightheartedness.
Meandering more, I make my way toward the small general store near the dock and grab a small coffee. The store is really more of a tiny room and less of a store. Charming, yet bare. I can take stock of the place with just a quick scan of my eyes: coffee, booze, candy, baby diapers, wipes, and some medical necessities. This whole place feels like something out of a dreamscape and I receive the feelings in these moments with gratitude.
Having moments like this, the moments where I am alone, fill me with more life and more drive to keep being the mom that my children need, however hard that job is at times. I used to admonish myself for wanting time alone. I now realize that these moments are the ones that bring me into a place of gratitude for what I have.
I head back to the inn and as I get closer, I can hear my son and daughter’s excited voices carry down the road. I pause to pick up a piece of mica the size of my palm and admire its glimmer. Beauty, hiding in plain sight.
COLLEEN TIRTIRIAN is a mother, writer, editor, and New Jersey native, currently writing from her home office in Hoboken. She believes that sharing the journey of motherhood, especially taboo topics, can help to normalize the difficult moments we all feel from time to time. When she’s not writing and juggling mom-duty, Colleen enjoys playing guitar and crafting (specifically, miniatures). Some may say she’s a bit quirky, but she chooses to embrace her eccentricities and channels them into her creative endeavors.