Between Stardust and Saltwater

When I was younger, I thought the ocean was another galaxy. That like the night sky, it too reflected an entire universe and never-ending celestial wonderment. In between, was us… the world. We were not the rule, we were the exception, blanketed between two expanses of stardust and saltwater. The link between the deep blue sea and velvet blue of the heavens. I thought for sure that scuba divers were just astronauts, exploring other underwater worlds and finding alien life. In a way, I was right.

For years, I believed my father was one of those ocean explorers. That his job was to search the ocean for new worlds and new life. He was a commercial diver on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, going away for months at a time. My mother always said he was her Poseidon, her king of the sea, coming to steal her heart. She’d be in the kitchen, cooking dinner on one of his rare weeks home. She’d dance and sway to music, singing into a spatula and performing for me and him. He’d grab the broom and turn it upside down, banging the handle on the linoleum floor, demanding a kiss from the fairest maiden that walked the land. They would laugh and he would pretend to carry her back to sea, while I chased him down the hall, giggling.

He played along with my childish beliefs, feeding me bedtime stories of sirens with beautiful blue hair and iridescent tails who sang to lost men in the sea. Sharks were the protectors of the underwater world, he’d say. They were the keepers of the ocean’s deepest secrets, and that’s why they were so vicious.

“Why do they let you go in the water, daddy? If it’s secret, how come they don’t get mad at you too?”

He’d puff up his chest and look down at me, a stern look on his face. “Because I’m Poseidon, king of the sea, silly girl. I’m one of them. They consider me an ally and friend. They whisper all their secrets to me to help keep them safe.” And I believed him.

On my 7th birthday, he took me to the aquarium for the first time. We visited the stingrays and sea turtles, the dolphins, and even the penguin exhibit, but all I cared about were the sharks. I wanted to stand close enough to the warriors of the water and silently beg to be a confidant too, just like my father.

It wasn’t until high school that I fully understood the mystery of the sea and the secrets it kept. One of those secrets was my father.

We got the call just after Sunday dinner one warm September night. Mama and I had been cleaning up the dishes, dancing and laughing just as we always had. And then suddenly, our laughter sank into the corners of the room, making space for grief and shock.

They said he disappeared during a routine dive for rig maintenance. We knew he was underwater with two other divers. The other divers went back to the diving bell. He was right behind them, and then he wasn’t. They believe his umbilical cord got snagged on the metal structure. They spent six days searching for him. Then Hurricane Fran came and the slim chance of rescue became recovery. Except he was never recovered. The sea had taken back their king.

My mother stopped dancing in the kitchen, stopped smiling and laughing. She stopped doing everything. We even stopped going to the beach. She couldn’t stand to be there, looking out at the same water that had stolen my father. I still loved the sea, but she hated it.

Her grief was so palpable that I could feel it sitting at our dinner table, an unwanted guest that refused to leave. It went on shopping trips with us, checked the mail right by her side, and wrapped itself around her in sleep. It took three years for her to stop crying out in the middle of the night. And in that time, I became the parent. Making sure she ate, showered, got dressed.

When I started college, I used the insurance money to hire a caretaker to help around the house. She didn’t fight me on it. Her spark was gone, floating somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. But it was different for me. My grief was fuel and fire. I was even more determined to become an ally of the sea. Even though it had stolen my father, the magic called out to me like a siren’s song. There really were secrets in the ocean. And I wanted to discover them and help preserve the mystery without dismantling the beauty. I earned a degree in marine archaeology and spent the next decade decoding its mysteries. But then she got sick.

“Maggie,” she said in my voicemail. “I think you need to come home. They found a mass.”

Three days later, I drove her to the biopsy appointment. When they gave us her results, the doctor talked about all of her options. He gave us tons of pamphlets and sites to look at. “What matters now is remaining positive,” he said. “Modern medicine has come pretty far, and I like your odds.” Through it all, she nodded. But when we got in the car, our old friend Grief was along for the ride.

I took time off and moved back home. For the first week, I think she was just processing the diagnosis. We didn’t talk about it much. I wanted her to fight. I’d lost one parent already, and I wasn’t ready to let her go too. She was too young. But she’d spent the last ten years missing my father, and I knew it had taken its toll on her.

In the mornings, we went for walks and then stopped for iced coffees. We’d spend lunch on the porch, mostly in silence. Dinner was usually something light. A salad or a half a sandwich. Her appetite was gone, and it took a lot of pleading to get her to eat even a few bites. Sometimes, she sat with me in the living room, watching TV before bed. She loved Netflix. Not too long after her diagnosis, we started watching Breaking Bad. Even then, she still didn’t talk about it the BIG C in the middle of the room. The silence was so loud it made my bones ache.

“Mama, we have to talk about this,” I finally said one night.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I have lung cancer. And I’ve accepted that. And right now I just want to live my life.”

“But you aren’t living your life! You’re just existing. You wake up, eat, shower, watch TV, and sleep. And then do it all over again the next day.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew I was being harsh, but I needed her to be alive, even though she was dying.

“You’re right, Maggie Mae. That’s all I do. That’s all I’ve done for the last 3,734 days. I just exist. I wake up, eat, shower, and then sleep. Because I can’t breathe. Don’t you get that? I was the inhale, but your father was always the exhale. And I’ve been stuck holding my breath without him. Now I have lung cancer. And I’m not even a smoker. That’s not a coincidence!” I tried to change her mind, but she refused to listen. Our days became strained.

Two months later, she woke up with a smile on her face. All the darkness and sorrow was gone. There was a lightness to her I hadn’t seen since the last summer before my father’s accident. Something had changed.

“I want to dye my hair,” she said while we sipped caramel macchiatos.

“What color?” I asked, glad to see color in her cheeks again. She would win this war against the invisible monster in her chest.

We went to the store and picked out some teal hair dye. Later that night, I dyed her hair in the kitchen. It was the prettiest blue I’d ever seen. Even the ocean couldn’t compete.

“Alexa,” she said, “play some happy music.” And then she began to dance. And laugh. And our silent house guest, Grief, took his absence and finally left us in peace. My mother was beautiful, the fairest maiden that walked the land.

The next morning, she packed us a lunch and asked me to take her to the beach. Her first time going in ten years. We put out a blanket, salt air curling around us as we ate and joked and reminisced about all the good things from our time Before.

“Maggie, I’m ready.”

“For what, Mama?” I’d asked, a smile on my face.

“To become a mermaid.”

I felt it then, the goodbye that had been lingering all day.

“Oh Mama, no.”

“I love you. You know that right?”

“If that’s true, then why are you doing this? Why are you giving up?”

“I’m not giving up, Mags. I’m just diving in. He’s out there, waiting for me, holding his breath like I’ve been holding mine. I can feel it. And baby, I’m ready to breathe again.” She stood up, hugging me for a long time. Her bones felt small. I hadn’t realized how much weight she’d lost the last few months.

Gently, she pulled away and turned toward the sea. But I ran to her, grabbing her hand. I refused to let the ocean keep this secret alone.

Her face was peaceful as she waded out into the water. After a few minutes, she let go of my hand and walked a little farther, the water almost at her chin.

“Poseidon,” she whispered, and then disappeared beneath the waves.

I cried myself to sleep that night, something I hadn’t done in years. She was finally where she belonged, a blue-haired siren singing to the man lost at sea. I thought about my father and all the ways he’d brought magic to our lives. He’d loved donuts with tons of sprinkles and my mom’s Southern chicken salad. He’d loved the beach and frosted mugs full of ice cold beer. And he loved my mother. Yes, he’d loved me. But it was different. My mother was his whole universe. And he was hers.

In between was just me — the link between stardust and saltwater.