The Ocean Grew Hands to Hold Me

I surfed on Thursday for the first time since December. It’s August. The water was in the mid-to-high 70’s, a rarity for California. Scripp’s Institute noted the temperature as the highest they’ve recorded – ever, for whatever that’s worth. It had been at least a couple years since I had surfed without a wetsuit and – after procrastinating as much as legally possible – desire overcame anxiety and doubt and I got in the water. Memories of surfing back east – with my buddies, my dad, my cousins – came flooding back. I found a spot sort of away from the crowds and felt like a human again for the first time in 8 months. Floating in the sun, the waves washed away the anxieties I didn’t know I carried.

A lot had happened in the space between ocean ventures – a good chunk of it was positive enough, but with negatives peppered in to remind me that Real Life doesn’t give a shit. This may come as a shock but quitting your job 4 months before your wedding is not a great idea. Who knew.

(Everyone. Everyone knew but me.)

My wife’s aunt had cancer for somewhere near a decade, but you never would have known. She was lively, vibrant, refusing to let her life be dictated by anyone. She was a carpenter, building and crafting with her hands. She and my wife were close, like sisters, like mother and daughter. Like aunt and niece. They were strong for each other, unwilling to let the other see the fear lurking.

On a Friday in June my wife called me from her work. At noon. She was sobbing. She said to meet her at the hospital.

In the room the family members gathered around Almendra’s bed. The options as I understood them were two:

1. Do nothing and she dies in the next 24 hours,
   or
2. Intubate, and a machine breathes for her so she can regain strength to fight the “real” problem – cancer – again.

If she intubated there was a 15% chance that she would wake up. She chose to be intubated.

I heard somebody cry
I thought I was alone
I came to numb my lungs in the salt air
Let the breakers heal my bones
I wish that the current would carry me home
I’ve been running for a decade now
And I think I’m ready to go
Oh, I’m ready to go

After Almendra made her decision it was time to say goodbye – the sooner they did the procedure, the better her chances. The nurses and doctors left to give us privacy. I didn’t feel I should have much part in this – this was their aunt, their sister. My job was to be there for Alex and do what I could for everyone else.

With that said, this woman was the first to accept me into the family. She saw how in love my wife and I are, knew how important we are to each other. Her dark, alive eyes looked straight into mine as I thanked her for being a strong role model for my wife and for being such a special person. I promised her that I would never let Alex down and kissed her hand. She said something to the effect of, Good, You Better, and Thank You, gripping me with her still strong hands. I moved aside to let other family members through. For as long as I live I’ll never forget those moments. It’s not often a family gets to say goodbye to someone they love, let alone to a person who is 100% mentally there. It was a terrible, beautiful moment in time, frozen – there was nothing but family and love, nothing before and nothing after – just that moment, forever, until it wasn’t.

***

What was said was said, and it was time. I’m not sure when or how, but at some point Almendra decided against intubating. Without speculating recklessly, allow me to recklessly speculate – maybe she didn’t want to give up those moments anymore than we did. Rather than cut her time short – being unconscious with an 85% chance of not waking up – she would ride it out surrounded by the people she loved, and who loved her.

This was early on Friday evening, in June. The doctors’ predicted she’d be dead by 2AM. 

Almendra lived for another 3 weeks.

I can’t describe how it felt to see her alive and awake on Saturday.

***

My mom’s dad died when I was six. I was devastated, sure, but I was six. A sandwich with crust was devastating.

My mom’s mom was sick for a long time before and after that, but I was sheltered in whatever bubble I still kind of live in. She had Alzheimer’s. The last time I really remember seeing her was … off. I was too young to know, again, what any of this meant. I was 16 or 17, maybe, and couldn’t comprehend this woman having significantly less mental capacity than the last time I saw her. 

“She’s like a little kid,” I remember telling my mom on the way home.

After that I avoided going to see her. I wish I had a good excuse but the truth is that I was a coward and I was afraid. She died in December of my freshman year of college.

Towards the end of Mimi’s funeral it was time to face the music, to say goodbye. Somehow or another myself and all of my cousins, none of which could have existed in that moment – or at all, had it not been for this woman – gathered around our grandmother, together. I don’t remember what I was thinking, I don’t remember if anyone said anything. We may have had our arms around each other, but that also might be revisionist history.

Something changed. I don’t know how to explain it, but we felt it. To a person, we’ll swear to that truth. From that moment until this one – and beyond – those cousins have been brothers and sisters to me. Whatever “it” was changed us, unspoken. 

I never felt anything like it again, until that Friday evening in Almendra’s hospital room.

When I was in shambles
When I got too weak
The ocean grew hands to hold me

I will never forget a surf I had probably a decade ago, maybe to the day.

Boy, was that unpleasant to type.

It was August. As anyone who surfs the east coast can tell you, the summer waves are usually pretty crappy but the water is warm. My two best friends were over and we were sitting on my parents’ front porch. We had surfed, or tried to, in the morning, but it was probably terrible and the wind was definitely on it, so now we were just sitting there, hoping to see the trees bend west but knowing that they wouldn’t. They never do. I was in a mood where I hated everything and just wanted to be away from everyone and finally I said, Fuck it, I’m checking the waves, but in reality I was just getting away. I threw my twin fin in the truck and left my friends at my parents’ house. Aaron was living in my sisters’ old bedroom at the time so it wasn’t totally weird to bail on them, but it was still pretty uncool. I pulled up at Jeffries. It was after 5 so the lifeguards were gone, and there were only a handful of people scattered on the beach.

No one was out. There was a tiny bump in the water and the wind was still on it so there wasn’t anything resembling a rideable wave to be seen. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. I paddled out to the jetty. Once my hair was wet I took stock, like, “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is wrong with you? No wonder nobody likes you.” Instinctively I caught a wave or two and felt guilty about abandoning my friends.

Then I hear some hoots up the beach. I look in and see Shawn and Aaron jogging up with boards in hand. Relief and shame flooded my body. They paddled out, all smiles and chatter. It was contagious. All the bullshit melted away. And – this is true, you can ask them – the waves got better. The swell kept rising, nothing crazy, but from 1 foot to 2-4, and the wind went offshore. We traded waves until it was too dark to see, just the 3 of us out there on a summer day in the warm water off the Jersey shore, having the time of our fucking lives. Of our hundreds of surfs together that one throwaway evening is probably the most meaningful. I never apologized for being a dick (that particular time) but I don’t know that I had to. They picked me up when I was down, and the ocean was there.

I started my new job a little over a month ago. Between that, the funeral and our wedding it’s been a hectic time. My mom and sister were in town for bridal shower last week and I was spending every waking moment at work or with them or trying to do responsible things. I felt stretched, thin. We were walking along the boardwalk and I was staring at the ocean. People were out in trunks, no wetsuits (what sorcery is this?). It was Monday. I bought a rash guard so I wouldn’t rip my nipples off and vowed to get in the water the very next opportunity. With that carrot hanging over my head I powered through the next few days of work. 

On Thursday I went surfing.