I need to go to the ocean

And maybe the sea needs me back

I need to walk on sandy footing

Where stronger steps have tracked

To see the power of the waves

And feel a current where nothing stays

I need to go to the ocean

And hear song of something more

To see the line of a horizon

And heal the wounds that still are sore

To feel my feet begin to sink

Beneath a world made for leaving

And my lids begin to close

Over eyes meant for seeing

We had the absolute most perfect family vacation to Florida a week ago. It was our first “big” vacation with just the 6 of us since Sunley was born, which meant a lot to my travel-loving, travel-starved soul. It was a dual-purpose trip to spend time together as a family, but also to visit our dear friends, the Finns, who live just an hour away from St. Augustine. We got a big ole beach house and we were able to see Geoff, Rachel, Bear, and Ivy every day we were there. For anyone who doesn’t remember, Ivy was one of our leftie besties during our year in Houston in 2018 (Ivy is missing the left side of her heart, and Sunley is missing the right side, so they have similar surgical paths). She is also the last of our little heart family to be receiving her Fontan surgery, which is scheduled for late this summer (to support the Finn family and follow her journey, click here).

Rachel and I have been dreaming of getting our kids together since we left Houston in 2019. We’ve managed to keep in touch (understatement) with each other and with Leslie (Oliver’s mom), and even had a brief heart mom reunion in Houston last fall while Oliver was waiting for his heart transplant. But all three of our babies (Oliver, Sunley, and Ivy) have never been in the same room. Someday.

It was simple and perfect and fulfilling seeing all six of the kids reunited and playing on the beach together. The big kids remembered each other from their 2018 days, and from Marco Polo chats since then, and they all got along so well. There was a moment on our last night with a perfect sunset floating in the backdrop when I turned to Rachel and just said, “This is exactly what we were dreaming of inside the hospital.” Moments like that feel so full circle, and I have no doubt that God designed that sunset to draw our attention to the depths of our joy.

There’s just something about the ocean that calms my spirit, and I’ll be taking my mind back there over and over again as needed. Thank goodness for sunsets. Thank goodness for oceans. Thank goodness for the cracks that medical parenting has created. God fills them all.