A Million Smiles

A shiver runs down my spine when a light gust of ocean breeze rushes past me through the trees. I can feel the pebbles crunching against the rock through the bottom of my shoe. It reminds me of just how fragile everything is and if just one of those pebbles was knocked out of place or a strong enough burst of wind rushed through, I would be at the bottom of this rock formation in seconds flat. I’ve always been scared of heights but for some reason when I come here and stand on the edge, I feel at peace. Everything else in the world dies down and I am alone with the wind and the ocean and nature herself. She soothes me with the briskness of her breath and the sprinkle of ocean water that it carries. There’s other people here, most of them are tourists taking in the breathtaking views and hoping to get lucky enough to spot some ocean life but what they don’t know is that the Beluga whales keep to themselves and only come out on rare occasions. Thinking of Beluga whales puts me into a state of nostalgia and I feel the invisible tether to my mother I’ve felt since I was a child.  

I instinctively go to place my hand on my stomach and land on air and the thought of what I once had makes me ache. A sadness starts to wash over me but I push it down and embrace the serenity of my surroundings. In my other hand I rub a small, flat rock in a circular motion that soothes me more deeply and I remember why I’m here. Before me is an ocean of waves. Beyond that is a stretch of pebbled beach. Out farther is a wall of mountains that cascade up and down and left and right. Some look treacherous, others just challenging, while others look like warnings from the gods, and together they create the backdrop for a cotton candy sunset. If you’ve never heard of a cotton candy sunset, it’s exactly how it sounds. Clouds that look like deep blue puffs of spun sugar with streaks of strawberry pinks and lavender purples and hints of banana yellow sun peeking through. I stand and breathe it all in because photos could never do it justice. Mental pictures are the only way to capture this kind of beauty and I do all that I can to inhale this moment so it can become part of me.

Photos are all I have left of you, I think as I rub the rock harder as if I’ll be able to burn a hole into it if I massage it with just the right pressure. A tear creeps out and falls slowly down my cheek and I imagine your perfect face. I remember your smell and hear a symphony of your voice. I bring the rock up to hold it between my palms and let the tears fall freely. I whisper a prayer into the wind, “Take this token as an offering to thank you for looking after my love. She was my life and now she’s yours. I release her to you and trust that she is where she belongs.” I gently kiss the stone and throw it out as far as I can into the sea. I can barely stand because I realize now that I have nothing left of you. I feel empty and broken, even more than before and I look down at the jagged rocks below. Why don’t I?

I try to inch forward but am pushed back by a huge squall of wind that almost knocks me to the ground. I catch my balance and chuckle to myself at the thought that the wind kind of just saved my life. Of course it’s just a coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe that was you, telling me that you’re okay and want me to keep on living without you. I wish I would know for sure, but that’s faith. You don’t get proof, you don’t get to be certain, and yet you believe. You taught me that. I take all of it in one more time before I turn away and carefully trace my steps back to solid ground. I get to the train tracks and make sure I look at least ten times in each direction and listen for a couple minutes for a train whistle before I scurry across the tracks and make the final trek to the parking lot.

I get to my car and check the back seat to see the baby still sound asleep in his car seat. He’s always been a good sleeper, which I’m so grateful for. It’s probably one of the few things that’s gone right in the last few weeks. I get in the car and look at my phone and see 7 missed calls from my mom, 3 from my dad, and 2 from my sister. I have an ever growing number of unchecked messages from friends, family, and even co-workers. That’s something I never thought I’d do; let messages go unopened and unanswered for more than a few hours, let alone days at a time. Some of the ones I have are weeks old from right after I lost you. I just couldn’t bring myself to read through all the pity and declarations of support and blah, blah, blah. I just wanted to be left alone and I ignored everyone who reached out so I could be. It’s just been me and the baby for 24 days. The only people I’ve interacted with are my immediate family, your family, and cashiers at the store whenever I was forced to go shopping to get diapers and formula and food. I tell myself that I’ll check my messages tomorrow and call someone back when I get home, but I know it’s a lie.

I don’t know how people move on from the loss of a partner. I’ve seen it done in tv shows and movies, and I’ve heard of co-workers and family friends going through things like this, but now it’s me and it feels impossible. Thoughts of suicide are a daily occurrence, but I promised my dad when I was a kid that I wouldn’t do that & up until now I’ve coped and pushed through. I was even happy for the few years I got to spend with you. But just thinking of how much work it took to get to that place of happiness back then and knowing how broken I am right now, makes me feel hopeless.  

A gentle coo from the back seat alerts me that Arbor’s awake and pulls me back into reality. Well, I have at least one reason to live. I relocate to the back seat and dig out a bottle of formula from the diaper bag and prop it up for him to drink. He stares at me with his glossy blue-grey eyes and I watch his dimples take shape as he smiles. I might feel broken most of the time, but when I look at Arbor and he looks back at me I feel a piece of myself come back together and it might take a million smiles, but one day I just might feel whole again.