Lemondrop

When my dad announced we were going to move to Pensacola back in 1990, I was ecstatic. I may have only been 13 years old, but I knew that Pensacola had a reputation for its beautiful beaches. I just knew in my heart it was where I was meant to live.

I'd had friends who'd lived here in Pensacola and told me all about it. My dad was going to retire from the Navy and we had just spent almost six years in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Yeah, we had plenty of beaches in Gitmo, but not much sand. The only beaches I knew of were the kind that required you wear shoes of some sort.

As a teenager -- and during some of my early adulthood -- I spent much of my free time at Pensacola Beach. After school (sometimes skipping school!), on the weekends, at night, all summer ... I even celebrated my 21st birthday there. Our beaches were just so beautiful -- you couldn't help but brag about them.

I remember so many nights in high school, hanging out with friends in our parking lot (the second one), drinking, smoking, making out with some boy, running in the sugar-white sand without a care in the world. I never thought I would have to be so thankful to have been able to actually make those memories.

But how thankful I am.

I'm now 32 years old, still living in Pensacola with a family of my own. The day before the oil washed up on the Perdido Key shore (PK is only about 10 minutes away), we took our kids to the beach one last time. Our daughter, above, is 6 years old and our son is 21 months old and blind. He had only been to the beach twice before. The first time was on the Fourth of July in 2009, about this time last year. Unfortunately, he was too little to enjoy it, really. He wasn't much into the insane heat. His second visit was a couple of weeks after the oil spill. He finally got to experience rubbing his feet in the sand. It was one of those bittersweet moments.

I'd always thought to myself, So what if he can't see how beautiful it is here? He can feel it, smell it. He loved the breeze and the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore -- every crash made him laugh. But then I realized, Holy crap. He is never going to remember this and he may never get to experience this again. It immediately broke my heart.

Fortunately, we had this one last chance to take him. As our daughter jumped in and out of the water and played in the sand, my husband walked our son to the water. It crashed into his legs, soaked the bottom of his shorts and he laughed. He knelt down to feel the water with his hands, and I watched as he appeared confused, yet excited, to feel his feet sink into the wet sand. After a while, my husband took him back to the blanket, where they sat just listening to the waves crashing on the beach and the breeze blowing. I played in the sand with my daughter.

My husband is an avid surfer and has been for more than 20 years. He goes in the garage and stares at his collection of surfboards and wonders, What now? Surfing is his passion; it's what makes him happy (besides us, of course). He used to get so depressed when he was without the chance to surf for weeks, even months, due to work or simple lack of surf. How is he going to deal with not being able to go at all? Sure, you could say, "Get a new hobby," but for him, it isn't just a hobby. He may not be a professional, but he's all heart. Some people read, paint, or even drink or smoke to relax and de-stress. He surfs.

So, yeah. What now?

Everyone has their reasons for being broken up about this oil spill. Families have lost loved ones. Some people will lose their jobs, others their livelihood. Our city -- and others -- will lose so much. Hurricanes have previously destroyed our beaches, but somehow we overcame that and got most of our shore back. But there doesn't seem to be any coming back from this. Not anytime soon. And who knows what will happen if any of us on the Gulf Coast get hit with another hurricane.

We have not been out to the beach since the oil washed ashore. But we've seen the pictures. We've heard the stories and watch the news every day and read the paper. Unless you've been here, I don't think you can fully understand the sadness, the disappointment and the helplessness we are experiencing. Many of us are doing what we can to help, but will it ever be enough?





Last Friday, we asked our Facebook friends to tell us how the oil spill is affecting their lives and Kim A. is one of the women spoke up. She's not a professional writer (though she writes about her family and other stuff here), but her story tells a side of the oil spill we care about greatly: the human side. We thank Kim for sharing her story and want to hear yours, too. If you live in an area directly affected by the Deepwater Horizon spill, send us an email, post on our Facebook page, or send us a Tweet.