I miss traveling to Barbados more than I can even explain.

I miss going to the beach, walking on the sand, putting my bare feet in it and feeling it between my toes. I miss walking into that beautiful, clear blue Caribbean water and feeling the waves against my legs.

Those are the little things I never thought twice about back then.

I didn’t know I was supposed to appreciate the feeling of sand underneath my feet.

I didn’t know I was supposed to remember what it felt like to walk into the ocean on my own.

Why would I?

I thought I would always be able to do it.

That’s what gets me emotional sometimes. When you’re able-bodied, you don’t necessarily think about your legs carrying you across the beach. You don’t think about standing in the water. You don’t think about getting up and going wherever you want.

You just do it.

Now, when I think about Barbados, I don’t only think about a destination. I think about a feeling.

Freedom.

I think about my grandparents and my family. I think about those summers. I think about the heat, the beach, the clear blue water, and the younger version of me who could simply walk toward the ocean without thinking about accessibility.

Sometimes I would give anything just to experience that again.

To put my feet in the sand.

To walk into that clear blue water.

To stand there and feel the waves.

No wheelchair. No transfers. No caregivers. No accessibility plan.

Just me and the ocean.

I didn’t realize how precious those ordinary moments were until they became memories.

And that’s one of the hardest things about living with a progressive disability: sometimes you don’t realize that the last time you did something was going to be the last time.