Somewhere in the Sea

I sat in the sand for a very long time, simply looking out on the blue horizon hazed with red, yell0w, and orange. Waves crashed over themselves, the wind whistling its own little tune. Seagulls cawed at each other as they flew from place to place, and yet even with all these things going on around me, I didn't pay attention to anything.

All I could see was her.

Isn't the sea so beautiful, she used to say to me when we would sit in the sand together for a very long time, simply looking out on the blue horizon hazed with red, yellow, and orange. Isn't it all so serene?

"Yes," I answered quietly to the memory, her not here to hear it. I wondered if she would though, wherever she was now. Heaven, hell, the sea. She could be anywhere.

A mom and a small child walked by me, holding hands and laughing as they splashed through the water. My eyes couldn't help but watch them, observing as the mom scooped up the little one in her arms and waved her around. It was so pure, that moment. Kind of beautiful.

Yet, all I could see was her, waving me around on this same beach so long ago. All I could hear was her, laughing and calling "go" as we raced each other back to our beach chairs and umbrella.

Everything about this place was her, and it couldn't be shaken away. She was engraved in this sand and somewhere in the sea, waving for me to come play in the water or build a sandcastle. She was everywhere, and somehow it made the sea that much more beautiful and serene.

I could still see her smiling, licking at her popsicle and whispering "God, I love it here." We'd awe at the sea together when the sunset was at its most magnificent point, glowing and illuminating all in its view. The sunset made her look of golden sunlight or little bits of stardust, sparkly and aglow.

The sea sparkled now as the sunset reached its most magnificent point, where I knew she was, where I could still hear her laughing and running away as she splashed water at me.

"Happy birthday," I whispered to her—though she was not here to hear it—my words brushed away by the breeze and left to be unheard. The small waves in the distance settled, riding smoothly in their own separate paths. The sea turned aglow with the light of the sunset, looking of golden sunlight or little bits of stardust.

I knew then that she heard me. I knew then that she was there.

Suddenly, I found myself beginning to cry, warm tears trailing down my cheeks. My heart ached as I wiped them away because she was not here to. "Sweet girl, please don't cry," is what she said the last time I saw her, when crying was all I could do. "Please don't die," I'd said in return, perhaps praying to god or to miracles or a fairy godmother.

Not all prayers are answered.

"You know where I'll be," she'd whispered to me, my hand clutched in hers that very last day.

It was your birthday today. We'd never spent a birthday apart, so waking up this morning had felt so strange and unfamiliar. But that is also why I was here. I was here today because this is where'd you'd be, always: somewhere in the sea.

What birthday girl spends her birthday alone anyway?

I suppose being here is all a part of the grief process, as I've been told, like holding on to a rope that's already been cut. Though, being in a place you loved for your birthday doesn't seem particularly tragic to me. Maybe this is really what I need.

Coming here without you is perhaps the hardest thing I've done. Though, when I got here, I didn't feel without you. I felt you here; I saw you and heard you and felt your presence everywhere I looked.

The thought that you weren't really gone was comforting; that here, you'd always be somewhere in the sea, waiting for me.