Life Lessons from a Very Brazen Turtle

For 20 years, I have been travelling to south Florida this time of year.  Originally, it was because my mom had left chilly Chicago for a much warmer climate and spring break was the time to go for a visit.  She would go on to make another move back to Chicago for a few years and another move back to Florida last year.  Nonetheless, every spring break, no matter where she lived, she managed to meet me where I sit in this moment, on the gulf side of southern Florida.  We had our traditions, eating blackened grouper at the Lazy Flamingo on Sanibel Island, taking a trip to Vanderbilt Beach in Naples where we could eat lunch in our bathing suits at the Ritz Carlton's beachside restaurant,  the obligatory spoiling of the grandchildren and long conversations between her and I where sentences did not need to be finished and probably to an outsider it would seem we were speaking a foreign language.  It is just who we were, her and I. 

I suppose that is why this  year I was not so sure I wanted to come.  Mom died suddenly the last day of  June and I was not certain what being here would be like.  I was unsure if seeing her around every corner would spark grief or comfort.  It turns out it is simply a little bit of both.  One thing of particular significance to her, though, was the plight of the Florida turtles.  You had to know my mom.  She liked to, just like her mother before her, clip articles from the newspaper and carefully scotch tape them together if they appeared on different pages, and fold them neatly into an envelope and mail them to me.  Yes, I realize these are all online and a link could have been sent to me in seconds, and despite being reasonably tech savvy, she preferred to as she said,"see the newsprint on her fingers."  Over the years she sent me all kinds of articles, however since moving back to southern Florida, all the articles she sent were about turtles.  Dozens of articles about regulations and nesting and their protection by the government. Imagine her surprise when a turtle laid eggs in the mulch of her lanai last year.  I do think she felt as though she won the lottery. 

I guess I didn't really understand the fascination.  It's a turtle for God's sake.  It moves slow, it has no personality and hides away from interaction.  Here in Florida there are rules about artificial lights at night, and forbidden retaining walls in nesting areas, and a long laundry list of things that truly made me think they were more of a pain in the ass rather than some noble creature,but it was my mom, and she was always so excited, so I humored her and listened to her stories like any dutiful daughter. 

Fast forward to Monday.  I had taken my two youngest kids to Vanderbilt Beach.  A bitter sweet arrival as this was the last place I visited before catching my plane home in the days after her death last summer.  The beach is different this time of year.  Instead of the quiet crashing of mild gulf waves and the solitude I experienced in the beginning of July, it was crawling with spring breakers.  Hundreds of people towel to towel, umbrella to umbrella.  To be honest, it annoyed me.  I was really hoping for a little solitude and the chance to feel close to my mom in one of her favorite places on earth. 

As the kids and I squeezed into the only available spot we could find I was suddenly face to face with of all things, a turtle.  Not a small turtle either.  What was happening right now?  I have never seen a turtle here before.  Not in 20 years.  He was boldly walking among the sea of humanity as if he owned the place.  Children would touch his shell and he did not retreat.  He clearly had a mission to complete and he was going to do it. 

Suddenly, I began to think about the many times in my life I was bullied.  The many times I was scared. I considered the many times I retreated from life and settled for failure because the fear of the sea of humanity was far greater than my will to overcome it all.  These were the times my mom would find me all safely in my shell and remind me that none of that really mattered.  All I really needed to do is let go of the perceptions, stop giving the power to my fears, and hold my head up and do the scary things even if it meant facing the things I was most afraid of.  Just like this brazen turtle. All at once, the appearance of the turtle on this beach seemed to be a little more than just a coincidence. 

I would go back to Vanderbilt Beach again yesterday.  There was the same turtle, that now one of my children has named "Mikey".  I would smile as they followed him around realizing why the turtles mattered so much to her.  They symbolized who she was and who she believed I could be.  Mom marched to the beat of her own drum and often did the unexpected.  Perhaps she was on to something.....  it is entirely possible, that instead of the introverted, frightened slow poke everyone perceives the turtle to be perhaps they are something different entirely.  I don't think I will ever think about turtles in the same way, but one thing is for sure, this little reminder once again helps me to believe that despite the loss of my Mom, the best is yet to come.