Dearest K.

Dear K.,

           I finally did it, K.. I finally made it to my mother’s home planet. It has been, well, what can I say other than full of emotions, especially the one day I’ve spent honoring my mother.

           I don’t think I’ve ever told you that I’ve never seen the oceans, not even on our own world. Mountains and mountain lakes have been all I’ve known. Never adventured beyond them. Never felt like I needed to given the majestic beauty of where I consider home. I remember my mother telling me about the ocean where she grew up. There were significant parts of her stories that held a definite beauty. The parts about the deep mysteries of the unknown beneath the waves and the endless, out of reach horizon. I had tried to explain a few times to my mother, the mountains had their own endless horizon, but she always rebutted with how each day brought a new horizon and therefore, we never see the same one twice. I’m still not sure how that rebuttal argued her own idea of an endless horizon, but it always made me speechless and always made me smile.

Speaking of speechless, dearest, K., can you imagine the speechlessness I felt today? All day I had felt a knot in the pit of my stomach, an uncomfortable pit, a nauseous pit. Oh, but the blissful feeling that arose, the euphoric sensation that overwhelmed my body when I saw the sign declaring the ocean was straight ahead made me feel optimistic. You know how big of a deal that is these days, especially since the death of my mother.

It’s been over two years since she passed away. And here, just beyond a hill of foliage, stood the majestic sight she so often spoke of since she was first diagnosed. I hesitated at first to breach that foliage. I kept thinking there had to have been a reason for that knot in my stomach before being so close to the thing my mother loved to speak of, other than her grandmother’s banana bread and, of course, me as an infant. I wanted so bad to see these mysteries of the unknown, so I pushed through that foliage, K., not minding the scratches my arms suffered. What I found once I stepped through that foliage, I will never forget.

The empty, barren ocean terrain before me crushed my dream of inhaling and tasting the salty air and feeling the cold-water wash over my toes with each wave because there was no water to speak of. There was an endless, out of reach horizon, but it was not of various breathtaking shades of blues and greens my mother had portrayed. There were no deep mysteries to unearth beneath the infinite waves, only what I could assume was sand. I looked out into the barren terrain before me and inhaled the stale air. I threw back my head and let out a scream that resonated in my own ears. I let out another sound of frustration and fell to the ground. I scolded myself for having such high hopes. There are reasons my mother and others felt their home planet and I should have known better than to assume it looked the same as when she had seen it.

Sitting there, staring off into nothing, I ran my fingers through the sand. I recalled how my mother described sand: dry, grainy yet often fine, and color diverse. Her words rang true as I experienced the sensation of the sand trickling through my fingers. I wonder if sand back home feels and looks the same. It feels so different from the snow I am used to; wet, compact, and preferably one color. Yellow and snow after all, my dearest K., well, you know the rest. We will have to discover if sand back home is anything like this together when I remember.

I spent several minutes scooping the sand into my hands and watching the multicolored grains flow naturally back to the ground. As mesmerized as I was, a thought struck me. My mother had spoken of building castles out of sand; sandcastles she had called them. Knowing this may be the only moment I could attempt my own sandcastle, I dove into the challenge of crafting one.

Never having build one before, I hadn’t the slightest idea where to start. I tried to pile the sand in to shapes like we do the snow back home, but the softness prevented the shapes from retaining. I huffed at my last attempt to create a circular dome as the sand drizzled down the sides and the mound flattened. There must be a trick I have no knowledge of. A trick my mother had forgotten to share. Perhaps when we visit the oceans, we can explore this more together? Perhaps the locals there will have an idea of the secret my mother did not share.

Annoyed as I was, I threw my back onto the sand and stared up into the sky. Shapless clouds waved past as I pondered the lost possibilities of a beach without water; pondered the possible minutes I could have experienced with my mother. I was grateful when a cloud stopped overhead which reminded me of an animal in a photo my mother hand once shown me; a turtle she had called it. I quickly sat up and surveyed my surroundings once again, hoping there might be signs of life, a symbol of what was once there. That hope quickly shattered as it had done before when stepping out from the foliage. There was no sign of any animals, not even a bird flying in the sky. I laid back down digging my fingers and burying my feet into the sand. The sensation prompted a memory in the snow; a memory of laughter as my mother and I made snow angels. I started moving my arms up and down and my legs inward and outward, maneuvering here and there to make a sand angel. Do you remember the first time I showed you how to make a snow angel? Remember how you felt once you saw your angel?

Having made my sand angel, I stood up to admire it. I had actually created something that held its shape until I stepped near it. It dawned on me then that sand had seeped its way into every crease of my skin and clothing. Recognizing how dirty I had made myself, I admitted more wouldn’t bother me and I started digging deep into the sand. A thought crossed my mind as I formed a hole, what if I dig deep enough and find the beaches missing piece? Find the ocean? The marvelous blues and greens my mother desperately wanted to see again. I grinned at the thought and started digging with eagerness. Again something you know so well is rare for me these days; grinning and eagerness.

The more I dug the more I realized I had the same problem as the sandcastle; the softness caused the sand to drizzle down the edges and back into the hole, filling it back up with me inside it. I took a deep breath, groaned, and started kicking the sand around as if I was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. Unluckily for me the wind picked up and blew bits of sand into my face. At this point I was not only covered in sand, but also spitting it out. I wanted to drench my mouth in water, to clean it out, but alas, dearest K., there was no water; only a desert sat where a vast ocean should have.

After climbing my way out of the sand, I questioned if perhaps it was time to end my devastating adventure. I had planned to spend the whole day admiring and indulging in the mysteries of the deep, even gazing at the stars and the reflection of the moon in the water, but there was no water to speak of. There was no reason to stay. As I gauged the time of day, I decided to stay and watch the sunset. If not for me, for my mother. Sunsets had been a past time she and I enjoyed during her last few weeks. I could at least stay and contemplate the sunset she had seen all those years ago, all those ones she would miss.

When the sun started to set, I sat to watch. It wasn’t the colors my mother had told me about, but it was gorgeous and mystical to witness. The reds, yellows, oranges, and blues in the sky that showered the sand, I will forever associate with my mother. After the sun vanished beyond the dry brown terrain, and the stars came out, I awed at the sight before me. I still would have liked to have seen the reflection of them upon the water, feel the waves wash away the sand upon my feet, and hear the rushing of the waves drifting onto the beach, but now was the time for me to leave.

The beach had been crushing the second I stood on it, but the sunset, the clear night sky, and the memories it awakened in me made up for it in the end. The adventure reminded me that even without deep mysteries of the unknown and the endless, out of reach blue and green horizon, even without my mother by my side, there was still beauty to behold, still time to cherish with her, even if it was only through memories.

What a day, dearest K., what a day.

Your Beloved,

C.