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As I turn off of Highway 17 onto Johns Island it seems time has stood still. The twenty miles of road are canopied by the beautiful, gigantic oak trees and the Spanish Moss swaying in the breeze. Any tension I may have felt from the drive have diminished, and the stresses from home forgotten. I roll down the windows and breathe the air as the boys in the back simultaneously chant," ahhh, I love the smell"...The excitement builds as we enter the island. "Look, that is new! I wonder if we will see any alligators sunbathing! Have you rented the bikes? Do I have to unpack or can I go straight to the beach?" The bags are eagerly unloaded and doors slamming as they each go their own directions to the favorite part of the island. I, on the other hand, absorb. My senses are alive and I am taking in every last thing.
Kiawah Island, South Carolina. For thirty five years I have been returning to the same incredibly old, wood paneled beat up beach home. Anyone I have loved deeply has shared this home with me in some capacity. I am surrounded by ghost. Amazing ghosts. The kind that when I walk into this house embrace me and laugh with me and say, remember when?...
This place was my mom and dad's favorite. Mom loved the sun and dad loved the sand. So joy was in the house that we could never find in Charlotte. A relaxed joy. My brothers and I felt such freedom when we arrived here. The same kind of freedom my boys have... The freedom of exploring the island, finding the best waves or sneaking out at night and looking for loggerhead turtle laying eggs... But our freedom was different as well. We were free from the shackles of mom's drinking and dads stress. The emotions we felt at home were left there, and we were happy.
Over the years I have shared the house with those I love most. I feel as if it is a way to open my heart to them. Even though when they walk in the door they don't smell what I smell or feel what I feel they do see the expression on my face when I am there and they get to experience a slightly different me.
I have brought them home.
We have a boardwalk that leads to a porch overlooking the ocean. Early in the morning my father would take his coffee out there and reflect. In my early 20's I would jump at the chance to get out there with my coffee and join him, so for part of the day it could be just the two of us. I treasured that time with him. Since he died, when I was in my mid twenties, there is not a morning I miss when I am there, going to the porch to join him for coffee. I know he is there reflecting, and listening to me and my recaps. It is a standing date.
Richard, Chris and I reunite here with our families every summer. The children bond and form new traditions while the adults share in some of the same traditions year after year. My heart is full, overflowing in fact. No matter what tragedies we have endured in the past, we share a place that heals and continues to bring us closer together. They do say, "home is where the heart is"....
