The J in the Water

Her words were never heard they were never spoken. She created her own language through her eyes, her vibrant sapphire eyes. We grew up together, her and I... and yet she never really grew up, she couldn't. She never wrote her name, she never learned to read. But she would laugh and smile when music was played. Open heart surgery took away her mind her mobility at three years old and yet... she always clearly recognized those who loved her. It was a warm evening in September her 24th year when the four of us stood by her bedside. Renal failure. Grief shot through me... my hands shook as I held the phone. I wondered about the man on the other end of the line. Hospice care, how could he stomach phone calls like mine? We watched and we cried as her gentle spirit left and her fragile body remained. In the movies you occasionally see someone close the eyes of the deceased and yet when I tried her eyes wouldn't close. Her peaceful gaze I will never forget. Three weeks passed. The four of us set our sails and we drifted into the kelp beds of the San Diego bay. We anchored silence within the cabin. The soft wind ruffled the sails as the urn was opened. Ivory ashes fell into the water as I recorded the subtle ceremony. We thought our eyes were deceiving us her spirit alive once more as a piece of kelp came into the ashes, that formed the letter "J." Jordan told us that day to not worry, that she is okay. And that changed me. So much so that I live my life now as she would want me to happy, hungry for knowledge and adventure, accepting of the inevitable. Because being alive is truly awesome.