Ocean Farewell

• Arielle Denyer, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2020

A gust of warm, salty air sweeps through my hair and blows sand around the beach. The feeling of the sand against my legs as I sit at the water’s edge brings back memories from a long time ago. Memories of my mum and dad coaxing me to play in the water as I, a stubborn toddler, sit on the beach pouting and whining.

I force myself to drive the memories from my head. I need to vanquish my fear. There are too many emotions crammed inside me, I almost feel numb. My mind is exhausted and I’m overflowing with remorse and anger. I don’t recognize myself. I don’t know who I am anymore.

I stare at the water, serene waves stirring the quiet surface. It amazes me how water can be so soft and amiable one moment and then change so drastically the next, to cruel waves shadowing the dark depths, drowning any feeling of love. I feel tears welling in my eyes at the mere thought of the water’s actions.

As I wipe my eyes, I find myself glaring at the water. It isn’t fair. I desperately need her back; she was the best part of me. My chest aches and my veins burn with anger at the water moving in front of me, acting as though it is innocent. The water deprived me of my mother. It callously took her away from me. I will never forget it. My chest tightens and my body is overcome with an aching stiffness. The same thing happens every time I think of her.

I can’t hold back tears anymore. Warm drops of salty water streak down my face and drop to the ground, forming pools of heartache in the sand. I was so juvenile. I was too caught up in my own childish problems to say goodbye as she left on her trip, the trip that ended when the plane hit the ocean.

I hurt terribly, but I finally know that it is time. I heave myself off the ground. I slowly wade into the water. I reluctantly force myself to go further. Its cold arms hug me, like how my mother used to hold me. For the first time in a never-ending period of pain I feel safe. I’m unchained from my grief. The soothing waters make me realise that it wasn’t my fault or the waters fault: accidents happen. I was blaming myself and everything else for too long.

My body warms as I lie back into the water, and float on my back. I feel connected to my mother now; she is a part of the water, just like the rest of the people in the plane crash.

The pain will always be there, but I’m okay with it.

I forgive myself. I forgive the water.

I close my eyes and whisper to the water. I finally say goodbye to my mother.

The water ripples around me in response and I know she heard me.