The Windless Seas

The sound tears through my lips before I even know I’m screaming, but the windless sky and waveless sea smother it. Even my grief has nowhere to go. I stare out over the calm water and force myself to take a deep breath. Force my fingers to unfurl from my palms, where my fingernails leave crescent moon imprints. The dark water glimmers in the light as the sun rises on the horizon, chasing away the night sky, leaving lavender in its wake — Mom’s favorite color.

I see her from the corner of my eye, her wild red hair flying in the wind, tangled and fiery, but when I turn to her, she’s gone. The wind is gone. I sigh, the breath lingering in my lungs a fraction too long so that it burns, before I climb over the foredeck into the lounge. I pause briefly, a finger riding the rim of Mom’s urn, before I turn and take the stairs into the galley where breakfast waits.

The water is still hot when I pour it into my oats. The familiar aroma of the freeze-dried berries comes back to life, filling the space, and it is comforting. I stare at her unmade bed from where I sit, eating, the actions more a matter of muscle memory than thought. I crawl into it sometimes when the longing hurts too deep, burying my face in her pillows that still smell of her shampoo.

I close my eyes, turn my head away, so when I open them, I stare out one of the windows. I will the water to ripple, will the wind to blow, but Mother Nature seems indifferent to my plea.

For six days we have drifted here, me and the Infinite Skies, and each day seems to weigh more. To cost more of me. I imagine sometimes, late at night, when I can’t sleep and stare up at the star-painted sky, what this time would be like if Mom were here. Do we fill the time singing, dancing, and doodling silly drawings of seagulls and each other? Does she braid my hair in a crown and pronounce me queen of the sea as she did when I was little and fit in the crook of her arms?

This stillness, this silence, wouldn’t feel so oppressive, so consuming. My eyes burn, and I make myself swallow the emotional lump in my throat. Standing, I move to the sink and rinse the bowl before setting it down and heading back up the short steps. I climb back over the foredeck and stretch out on one of the trampolines, my hand dangling above the water.

The water is like glass, smooth and calm. I imagine myself stepping off the boat and walking off into the distance, leaving the ship behind, leaving everything behind. I sigh and roll onto my back, my fingers dipping into the water. It is cool to the touch, even though the weather is hot, the humidity worse, and the sun above blazes with no breeze to cool me.

I lie there for a while, the sun kissing my already tanned skin from months at sea, a generous layer of sunscreen making me glisten. Relaxed, hot, floating on the Infinite Skies in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Destination, nowhere, because the ocean claims it as so.

My journey — my mother’s journey — caught in limbo. My thoughts wander over the last six months, from my journey’s beginning, leaving Astoria, Oregon, to where I sit now, trapped in the doldrums.

I was ten when my mother and I began planning this trip together, and fourteen when she was diagnosed with cancer. Eight months ago, Mom died. Now I am here, scattering her ashes in all the oceans we had planned to cross together, and in a way, we are. She is here with me, in spirit, in memory. In every glimpse I catch of her before she disappears like a mirage. I roll onto my side, pull my legs up to my chest, and allow the tears that well up to spill.

♦

The sun is high above by the time I crawl off the trampoline and make my way back into the galley. I swipe a towel from a shelf and move into the bathroom, peeling my sweat-soaked clothes off as I go. The water is cool and refreshing after the hours spent under the sun, and I let it run over me for a few minutes before washing quickly, not wanting to waste too much fresh water.

Back in the galley, I pull a cold drink from the fridge, a Sprite. It burns in the best way as I drink, and I relish the sweetness. Stepping back into my Crocs, I snatch my phone from the counter and ascend back to the helm. I scroll through apps for a moment, find Spotify, and switch on the downloaded playlist. Billie Eilish’s soft, soothing tones float out from the speakers, drowning out the silence, and I allow the beat to move my body, dancing to an invisible wind.

I feel her presence with me, feel her hand in mine as we dance, laughter bubbling inside me as I twirl and move, my ponytail whirling around as I spin. It is like when I was little, dancing and leaping around the living room with her, happy together, lost in the silliness of everyday. That is what life was like growing up with her: wonder and amazement, constantly dancing through life, even at the end. Even frail and tired, she held onto my hand and danced that last day. I hear her laughter, musical and ethereal. Like magic exists in her very being.

I swear I hear her singing along, hear her whisper she loves my ocean eyes as she catches my tears with her thumbs. These are joyful tears, though. The memories dance before my eyes, warming me from the inside out. It is the first time I notice how cold I have been, as if this moment thaws away the pain and hurt stored in my soul since the day she passed.

I feel the pressure of her thumbs on my face still when I open my eyes as the song changes, and I touch my cheeks, as if I can feel her warmth on my skin. Laughter bubbles up inside me, and it is a mix of hysteria and happiness.

“I miss you, Mom!” I shout to the ocean, to the sky, to her. “I miss you, and I love you, and I need you!”

The ocean does not move, no wind answers from the sky, and Mom does not call back. I let the rhythm find my body again, let the song take me away from these memories. I exist between the lyrics and the beats, getting lost in the music.

♦

I sit on the edge of the stern seating, my feet dangling over the edge above the water, Mom in my arms. Her urn is cool to the touch, the smooth, polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. My eyes wander the horizon, as if awaiting some sign, some acknowledgment that this is where she is supposed to be. Or maybe I am trying to find meaning in the meaningless. For some reason, logical or otherwise, as to why I am here, life on pause.

Maybe this is a warning that I can’t just exist in life, that I need to live it, to breathe and dance and mourn together. To be more than just the motherless girl who sails the oceans because she can’t face the reality of life without her Mom.

“I remember being stuck like this, all those years ago, but it felt different then. Like we were stopped because we wanted to be. A reset, you said, to clean, to dance, to eat the things too hard to cook when the ocean bobbed and weaved beneath us.” I choke back a sob, not wanting to cry. I am tired of crying, tired of mourning, of this grief that seems to weigh me down. I wonder if I just leap off into the ocean, if I would sink to the bottom, the weight of my despair too heavy to keep me treading water.

“I was never afraid with you. Not of the storms, not of the silence, not of the still water. Not sailing through the night, or closing my eyes to sleep, because I was with you, Mom.” A piece of hair tickles my nose, and I brush it away, my head shaking.

“You promised me we would sail the world, you promised me we would dance in every ocean, that we would see every continent, that the world would be my home. You promised me!” I shout now, anger bubbling inside me, “You promised me, and you left. You left me alone, without you, without anyone! How am I supposed to do this without you? How am I supposed to live without you? Why? What is the reason?”

I stand, my anger making me pace, my heart racing, my arms still holding tightly to her, to the urn, but I shout out at the sea, at the sky.

“I’m scared! And I’m lonely! I miss you! And I hate you for leaving me!” In anger, I throw the urn into the water. A gasp flies from my lips as I watch it crash into the water, sending up a small spray. I stare at it, mouth agape, my hands shaking, frozen.

Seconds pass, maybe minutes, before I dive into the clear blue water and wrap an arm around the urn. The swim back to the catamaran feels like an eternity. Solo swimming in the ocean is not something I have ever done. Even in still water, the Infinite Skies can drift, and it can easily be out of reach within minutes. My heart races as I climb back onto the boat. I flop onto the deck, the urn still trapped in my arms, and force myself to breathe steadily. In, out, deep calming breaths. I threw her away, as if I could exist without her, only to dive in after her. To pull her back into my life, like I have been doing ever since she left me.

After a few moments of collecting myself, I stand back up and walk to the helm, set the urn down on the counter.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”

♦

Night falls, and the music is turned down low. I sit on the bench in front of the helm, eyes to the sky, taking in the stars. In the absence of light, they are bright and luminous, and they are wondrous to see like this. As a little girl, Mom took my hand and drew patterns in the night sky, explaining constellations to me, how to navigate by the stars, how to always find my way if I am ever lost at sea.

I can find my way to land, to civilization, if I am lost, but I know exactly where I am physically. I am lost inside, I am lost where the stars can’t guide me back to myself. I reach out and touch the urn.

“I don’t hate you, Mom. I’m afraid, and I am hurt, and I miss you more than I can ever explain or tell you. Like my heart is ripped open and bleeds, like my soul is set on fire, and nothing I do can stop this burning ache inside me.” I stand and close the small distance between us, twisting the lid free.

I dip my hand inside, scoop ashes into my palm, and walk to the stern.

“I know this isn’t a planned stop, but I think part of you belongs here, Mom. I love you.”

I turn my hand over and open my palm, letting the ashes fall into the dark water. They settle on top before dispersing.

I love you, Leah. I hear the words on the wind, and my eyes sting. It is as if she stands far away, calling to me. Then shock hits me. I hear the words on the wind! I turn and stare up at the sail, watching as it catches, billowing out as it fills with wind. A scream of joy tears through me as I jump and whoop, and the Infinite Skies surges forward.

“Mom, we’re moving!”