Waves

In my younger years, 

I was afraid of the ocean.

The sand, though bothersome, was where I spent my time,

Every time my grandmother and I,

Went to the beach.

Though wary of its inviting danger, I marveled at the grand ocean,

Like admiring a shark in a tank.

Yet, unlike the limits of an enclosure,

Vast was the reach of its blue body,

Deep and stretched to the outskirts of the world,

Yet no matter how far it was,

I felt it always peered back at me.

What would a frail thing as I do against this sifting beast?

And so I sat,

Doing as my grandmother once did,

Observing its tides and turns, yet stayed still as the waves kept crashing into itself.

I always looked towards her, she seemed so calm in the presence of chaos.

When the waves came too close, she would clutch the rosary hanging on her neck,

And they would retreat, nearly bowing to her presence.

Were it not for her, I wouldn’t have ever gotten close to the water.

Each time we went, I’d inch just one bit more,

Each time I stepped, she’d watched from behind.

No longer did the waves seem so violent, but intriguing, like an animal yet to be tamed.

I dug my toes into the soft sand, letting it wrap around my feet,

Wondering what grandma would think of me now,

Now that I’m grown,

No longer afraid,

But yet, so far away from her.

I turned around, expecting her smile and gray hair,

But find her suffering, in pain, away from it all.

She laid not on the sand that once held my feet, but the hospital bed, 

near the sounds of a mechanized respirator.

White walls boxed in the room,

With a blue sky trapped aside,

By a smudged window.

Grief is like an ocean; it always comes in waves.

With each weaker breath, the water recedes, 

And I stare at her face like the dark ocean water,

Silently glaring, out of fear.

It won’t come now nor later,

But when I sit to face it all,

It’ll hit — drowning me in all the water I’ve let pile up.

I can’t tell how far it is, but it’s close.

Too close.

Her eyes open, the soft gaze pleading for something.

Something, I can no longer give.

A tear rolls down her dry, open mouth,

As if she’d swallowed the salty ocean.

No words could escape her well she’d built,

In silence, masked by the sounds of the growing waves.

My family huddles close, grasping each edge of the bed,

With a strength all but lost to her,

Clinging desperately in the presence of us.

She crumbles too slowly,

But I still watch, seeing her last breath be swept away by the stagnant hospital air,

Instead of flying with the ocean’s breeze.

I close my eyes, nearly falling,

Being held back by something else.

I open my eyes, held in an embrace,

Arms and hands interlocked so we may all still stand.

Yet, fear pulls on my feet, slowly sinking, as if I were stuck in wet sand. 

I am a child again, no longer playing in the sand or the water, but gazing at the coming waves,

Paired with a surging welt of fear.

Everyone expects you to swim, when all you want to do is drown.

I dig my nails into the ground, 

Searching for sand to burrow myself in,

But the ground’s too hard.

She no longer moves,

but the waves still come.

Tears fall down my cheeks,

And I drown, buckling against the weight of the water.

I cry, scream, let out all the air in me,

Breathing in the water,

Surrendering myself to the blue void.

Yet, it pulls back, 

Leaving me wet and cold,

Holding onto the rosary from which my grandmother still lingered.

The waves stopped in front of me, shifting in place.

I pull back on the rosary, fighting against the weight,

My legs mark themselves on the sand, being dragged towards the water, 

My knees sink below the ocean, 

And the cold pierces deeper, enveloping me,

Yet it does not welcome me, pushing me away.

I cry, beg, kick and splash the water around me,

Clawing my way into the depths,

Until I am stopped,

Held in an embrace.

I look back, my family behind me,

All holding onto each other,

All holding onto me.

The rosary that was nearly ripped — I let go,

And watch it dissolve into ash.

It spreads throughout, glistening as it sprawls across the water.

I sit again, observing the blue waves as she once would.

Maybe she sought the ocean and I just helped her to swim.

I breathe, knowing she’s out there, yet still nearby,

As she becomes part of me, and part of the bright blue sea.