This Is What Grief Feels Like
On longing for my mother. Plus, gilded rage and a banana bread that honours the dead.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen water as perfect as the crystalline Caribbean sea off the west coast of Barbados. Every day at noon and sunset, I do laps along our shoreline, and finish by floating on the water’s surface, staring up at the clear blue sky, breathing in the salty air. The year is 2014, and it’s here I learn to surf and complete my scuba training. The water is so warm, that even at the bottom, I don’t need a wetsuit. My then boyfriend and I snorkel until our fingers turned to pruned grapes, the visibility so good we’re entertained for hours by the schools of innocent fish that swarm around the vibrant coral. I’m living in paradise, seven months before my mom will die unexpectedly, I have no idea what lies ahead.
Two months later, I’m by myself much further south, in Peru. I naively think surfing the Atlantic ocean will compare to surfing the Caribbean. I’m sorrily mistaken and the waves swallow me whole, leaving me concussed and vulnerable. Two weeks later and …