Waiting - July 5, 2011

I want you to know that I'm still waiting for you.

On cold mornings like this one, when all the courage I can muster isn't enough to withstand the loneliness of our silent house, I escape to the beach. I sit on the edge of the dock with my feet dangling down towards the ocean, skimming my toes over the caps of the gentle swells. The water calms me down. It reminds me of you, so quiet and mellow, and I always imagine I can hear your voice in the murmuring waves.

Of course, I've seen those waves in a thunderous rage as well, a destructive monster consuming everything in its path.

Everyone thinks I'm insane because I still love the sea, after all the pain it's caused me. They say I should have developed a phobia, should have moved away from this little town by the ocean, should have given up sailing and lived my life disconnected from the water. All the hours I've spent since the storm sitting on the beach, staring out at the horizon, with sea foam lapping at the sand in front of me are the opposite of how I should have behaved.

I watch the ocean because I still believe, one day, you'll walk out of it.

Two nights ago, I took our little boat out past the harbor walls and slackened the sail, letting the currents carry me farther from the shore. It was a clear night, bright and cold, and the starlight reflected brilliantly off of the water's rippled glassy surface. I leaned over the boat's edge and trailed my fingertips in the seawater, watching light slowly spread upwards from the foggy horizon.

I knew immediately when I had reached the spot amid the icy swells that marked your grave. My heart skipped, and in my mind I could see you resting on the ocean floor, your black hair swirling against pale lifeless skin. The night of that freak storm, I lost consciousness when the boat rolled and threw me against the surface of the waves. I never saw you sink, but I know exactly where you are.

I've been asked many times why I don't move on, first by the woman who pulled me out of the water after you'd disappeared into the depths, then by the family that stops by our house every once in a while to see if I'm still alive. The answer is really quite simple: I am happy with my life as it is now. I am content to stay here, in the house we shared, and spend my time wishing for the impossible; that someday, somehow, you'll find your way back to me. That night, I could have chosen to let you go. But I've always preferred living in a dream to crying over something I could never change.

I hope you knew, as you felt yourself slipping away from this world, that I will always wait for you to return.

I stood there in our tiny sailboat as the first rays of sunlight crept across the sky, rocking back and forth with the rhythm of the waves, caught in a world comprised of only you, me, and the vast, wild ocean. Then I turned the boat around and headed back toward the shore as the sun rose behind me.

-Alex Rush