I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I can’t breathe, I’m covered in hives, and my breakfast just consisted of potato salad that my husband made yesterday. I don’t even like potato salad.
After a whirlwind trip to Italy, moving into our new house 2 days later (packing + jet lag = awesome), and then a miserable flight out to the Outer Banks a week after that, we were supposed to have a relaxing week at the beach. The Outer Banks, known for the invent of flight, huge grassy dunes, and breathtakingly beautiful, desolate beaches, seemed just what the doctor ordered for a family of stressed-out Los Angelenos.
Our vacation home was located way out in Cape Hatteras, one town (if you can call it that) over from Rodanthe, made famous by the so-so Nights in Rodanthe. After a helacious day of traveling we finally arrived at 2am to pitch black skies pinpricked with sparkling stars, pounding surf, and soft, pale golden sand beneath our feet. The over the mountain and through the woods had been worth it. We had joined our family in OBX and we were happy. 18 people eager to eat, drink, and smile.
And then in a single moment everything changed. It was day 5 or 6 of our vacation – we were on the beach – playing in the water…
In the blink of an eye Todd was gone.
Caught in a riptide.
Drowned. Dead. Gone.
Really and truly gone. I’m completely in shock.
We miss you, Todd.