Maggie wanted to vacation at the ocean, again this
year. I arrived with Maggie a few hours ago, but now
I'm alone, dripping with ocean water, with an empty
container tucked under my arm. The Ocean is black
tonight. The crowd has thinned. It's a pleasant
eighty-two degrees, as saltwater breezes blow over me.
Night was always Maggie's favorite time on the beach.
Each time we visited Virginia Beach, I imagined us
staying. Maybe we would learn to surf. I'd try to
land a job that included the benefit of a meager
seaside room. Or, better still, live with Maggie in a
lighthouse. Maggie loved Lighthouses.
There were some years when we couldn't afford to come
here. Maggie always reassured me that it was okay.
Even when she was dying, she worried more about me
than herself. But she wanted to make the trip one
more time. She almost did, as she went into remission
for a while, but her illness returned. And then she
couldn't raise her head. And then Maggie died. But
not before she made me promise to bring her here.
Maggie's memorial stone is blank. I can't decide on
the engraving. She isn't in the grave anyway. She
asked me to have her cremated. She wanted her ashes
spread here. I hated the idea. But, finally, I put
her wishes first.
So I had this idea of walking into the sea about waist
high. Then I'd look for a beautiful wave to toss
Maggie's ashes into. Virtually no one would see that
wave. The few people who did see it would never know,
or care, that it was Maggie's wave.
But I removed the lid too soon, and as I was walking
toward the tide, I dropped the urn. Some of the ashes
spilled onto the sand, and some were carried away by
the ocean breeze. Most of the ashes were still inside
the urn.
Maggie had always reassured me, and I imagined her
voice saying "It's okay. Just pick me up and take me
to my wave. Don't give up. It's a lovely idea." So
I did. When I was waist high in the water, I could
see Maggie's wave approaching, as if in slow motion.
I wished she knew how much I loved her. Then I
imagined her telling me "Of course I know that silly,
but don't let my wave get away." I'll remember the
swing of my arm, and the gray wave crashing over
Maggie's ashes.
I tried to imagine what Maggie would tell me to write
on her grave marker. And, for an instant, I thought I
heard her gentle voice responding amidst the waves.
But it was just the sound of new waves dying.
