Greensboro KOA

We arrived around 4:00 p.m. at the KOA in Greensboro, NC. Nice, clean campground, site 81 will be our home for the evening. My husband has already started calling us Gypsies. We have landed in the midst of some gorgeous Class A’s. Hoping to meet our neighbor to the right who is from Colorado for any pointers they may have for us. Met an interesting gentleman in the Campground store while getting change for laundry. He’s 86 years old, been to all 48 states and through Canada. Worn out 6 cars along the way. He was recruited for the Army in 1952 during the Korean War. His wife has passed away, so he’s traveling alone. He still wore his wedding ring, which tugged at my heart, she mus have been an amazing woman. He gave me the key to a healthy, long life: Keep Active. He said too many guys retire and then don’t do anything, you got to keep moving. Words to live by. Settling in for a quiet evening at the campground.

As a side note, while eavesdropping on the conversation with the 86 year old man and Herb, the gentleman who checked us in today, I learned Herb was drafted in 1969 by the Navy. He served 27 years, mostly in the Baltic Seas area. He is 69 years old and agrees the key to staying healthy is staying active. Tall, skinny, German fellow. Extremely nice and accommodating, showed us to our site and helped us get set up.

And I found some ways to spread kindness in Greensboro. Money for a load of laundry, and treats for our furry friends.

Heading to Greensboro

This weekend proved to be incredibly relaxing. Yesterday we attended Nags Head Church, one we love to visit every time we’re in the area. Pastor Rick Lawrenson started a great series on prayer called Deeper that I’m anxious to listen to via podcast during the weeks ahead. A link to their podcast can be found here. Afterwards, I had to at least dip my toes in the water since I hadn’t been to the beach at all.

We grabbed a quick breakfast before hitting the Pointe Golf Club for a round of 18. Early for our 12:39 tee time, we enjoyed a good pace, with very little back up. Matt won the day with an 82, Ron shot an 86 (only the second time he’s broken 90) , and I was happy with my 100. Good day for all of us!

We had a family dinner at Dune’s Restaurant, before heading home for an early night. We were up at the crack of dawn to play 18 holes at Holly Ridge, a classic old school golf course, that must be played. Think Tin Cup and you’ll understand Holly Ridge. Matt won the day with an 86, we tied in our team effort, Ron and I also scoring an 86. Ron and I take whoever’s score is best on each hole and play against Matt, makes the game more fun. Separately, I had one of my best scores, a 95 and Ron shot a 98. Good way to end a restful weekend before heading on the next part of our journey.

At 11:19 a.m. we pulled out of site 17 of the OBX Campground, heading west. Hurricane Dorian is bearing down on the east coast. We’re praying for our friends and family as the storm decides what it is going to do. Praying fervently it will go back out to sea.

Taking Time to Grieve

I worked for Nautica for 16 years. The slow roll to Christmas would start around September, by the time Christmas Day arrived I had worked countless hours, driven even more miles and was always exhausted. The rhythm of life never failed, the minute Christmas Day hit all of that stopped. I would have a week off, making up for all of the six day work weeks. The day after Christmas was always a huge let down, everything that could be done to make sales had been done, it was what it was. Now we just waited with bated breath to see if we had jobs come January. In the meantime, I was always exhausted, typically ended up sick and in massive need of a reboot. That is exactly how I feel now.

Life has changed in the past five years, the rhythm of my life has changed drastically. Now summer is my busy work season, teaching tennis outdoors, you have to teach when you have the weather. This summer in particular was extremely hard. I taught tennis camps for five weeks for York County, as well as our own classes for Hampton Roads Tennis Academy (HRTA). I maintained my dog walking business, and took two classes for my Masters. All of that is over now, and I feel deflated and exhausted. As a result, I spent yesterday hibernating from the world, resting. And grieving.

Tomorrow will be five years since we lost Cody boy from the Minick family. He died as a result of his juvenile diabetes. When we pull out of here tomorrow it will be at the approximate time we learned of his passing on that fateful day. My heart hurts thinking about it, it doesn’t seem right I get to go on this huge adventure that Cody would of loved. Or maybe not, I don’t know. Cody and I used to love having adventures together, when he was growing up. To say I miss him is the understatement of the year. Our journey begins here in OBX because Cody loved it here. We’re all gathered here to remember him, to celebrate the life he lived and the lives he touched.

C.S. Lewis explains how I feel well:

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.” 

“The death of a beloved is an amputation.” 
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I’m feeling the weight of the amputation that occurred when Cody died. We all feel it, we all miss him, we all know there is nothing we can do to bring him back. But we can live our lives well for him. Thank God, we will see him again one day. But until then, every now and then, we take time to grieve our loss before we get back on the road of life.

To you Cody, I will always miss you. You will be with me everywhere we go, every mile we drive, every step we take. I’m grieving you, I’m grieving the loss of life, the loss of summer. In grief, we find life. Some days, it’s harder than others to get the motor running again, to start back on the journey. But that is what we have to do. I’m feeling your hug from heaven. I’m working on getting my motor running again, but for now, I’m going to sit here with you, just for another moment. I love you.