My own grandkids were embarrassed to be seen with me in a swimsuit. By the end of that vacation, they were the ones fighting back tears.
I never thought my own grandchildren would be the reason I almost hid my body again.
At my age, you think certain things stop hurting. You think you build up this thick skin after enough years of surviving marriage, childbirth, loss, widowhood, money problems, illness, funerals, and all the little humiliations life scatters in your path just to keep you humble.
Some things still find the softest part of you and press down hard.
This happened last summer, when the whole family went to Florida for a beach vacation. My son Daniel had rented a big house near the water. His wife, Megan, packed enough snacks to survive a power outage.
My daughter Elise brought three suitcases for a four-day trip. The grandkids came armed with phones, earbuds, opinions, and the kind of careless honesty only young people can get away with.
I had bought myself a new swimsuit for the trip.
Nothing wild. Navy blue. High-waisted bottoms. A halter top with little white stitching along the edges. Tasteful, I thought. Cute, even. I bought it because I liked it, which is not something women my age are encouraged to say out loud. We’re supposed to talk about comfort, support, coverage, and what’s “appropriate.”
But I liked it.
I liked the way it made me feel like I was still allowed to have a body instead of just a history.
The night before our first beach day, I was folding things in my room when my youngest grandson, Tyler, wandered in looking for sunscreen. He saw the swimsuit laid out on the bed.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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