Tracking Sand Everywhere

To quote Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars: Episode II Attack of the Clones: I fucking hate sand. 

Or whatever it is that he says while flirting with Natalie Portman. 

Unfortunately for me, I lived in Pensacola Florida for several years and the sand found it’s way absolutely everywhere. In the washing machine, the floor of the car, shoes, dog fur, floors. Everywhere. It was a sensory nightmare. I was not sad to leave the beach and unbearable heat behind when we finally moved away. 

Yadi & Pip c 2014 in the water on a Beach near Pensacola

This week, I went to the beach with Adam, Wibble, and our friend. For as much as I hate sand, and have a distinct fear of drowning, I do enjoy the beach. We looked at shells, and found some cool rocks and an enormous jellyfish that had washed up on shore. Wibble got to run and play with a lovely little bull terrier and practice watching horses politely. He spent time checking on all of us and running through games with Adam and exploring the water at his own pace. 

Wibby on Katwijk Beach

And sand got everywhere, as it does as though it’s paid per grain. In shoes, Adam’s bag, clothing, Wibble’s harness and fur. We brought it on the bus and all the way home where wibble and his harness received a rinse off. No matter how much I sweep, I somehow always manage to step in yet another little bit. 

And that’s kind of what grief is like, I think.

Sometimes, I go to Grief Beach. And it’s all there before me. The tonnes and tonnes of sand that may shift, be dragged into the water, built into sandcastles, dug into massive pits, or tracked into my home. Played on by dogs and traversed by horses. But there is no doubt it exists and it isn’t going away any more than the physical, real-world beach. 

Even during the days, and weeks, and months I avoid Grief Beach, I still find sand everywhere. In pockets, shoes, corners of my apartment I am certain I’ve already vacuumed. Reminding me the beach exists and that I have been there. That I will continue to go back throughout the rest of my life. 

I went to Grief Beach this week. 

The Uphill Climb to enter or exit the beach

It’s been hard. I had several dreams about Eugene running towards me. What on earth can I do with that? There are other griefs too. Small and large that have stacked up over the course of my life that are just making this time extra tricky. 

I think I’m learning how to actually explore Grief Beach. How to look for shells, watch birds, and maybe play in the water instead of trying to climb a dune to get out or being afraid of drowning in the rising tide. I can come and go. I will always find evidence of it. It will still show up in my everyday life. But I don’t have to live there, and I don’t have to completely abandon it either. 

Wibble & Adam 2026