Our Story

I had never seen the ocean. Lakes, yes. Swamps, every day. But never the ocean, or any ocean for that matter. Where I could look out as far as possible and lose sight of land. Where I could smell the salt water rolling off of beaches and see the fish being carried from the docks. I had honestly never dreamed of a day where I would see, let alone be in an ocean, but here we are.

My first trip wasn’t intentional. Our flight to the city got cancelled and the airline offered us a tropical round trip in exchange. My aunt used to talk to us about her travels all the time, so we figured an adventure wouldn’t be the end of the world. The hotel was less than bearable and activities were limited, but the ocean made everything seem worth it. The sand melted around my feet as waves gently died meeting the shore. The water was never cold, unlike the lakes and rivers back home. The sun was constantly shining, glittering off the water and illuminating the world below. I don’t know how my parents felt during that trip, but I knew for certain it was an adventure I wanted to have over and over again.

So I did. Every year, throughout university and into adulthood, I saved just enough for a round trip flight and a cheap motel. All I needed was the ocean and a bed to rest and recharge. Every year I grew to love it more. Each time I waded deeper, snorkeled, and even crashed a couple of boat tours where we witnessed dolphins breaching the water. One evening, sitting on the cooling sand as the sun rays painted the sky, I saw a fin cut through the stillness of the water. I stood up and every instinct I had told me to go to my bed, to stay safe. I had other plans. I slid into the water, once again feeling the sand welcoming me back. The fin never got closer to the shore but I could feel this instant connection as if the water were binding us together.

The next morning I went out before sunrise to look for the fin again. I never saw it. Every day until my flight I searched. It became the one that got away, and I grieved. I wish I could’ve seen the shark skimming the surface. My family often listened to my story, some even calling me crazy for not following my instincts. Not my aunt. She told me I was brave, that that shark had called out to me to bring me home.

Of course I never truly believed her. As I grew up and my mind developed, hers had deteriorated. She often recounted far away places she had or wanted to visit and the people she had met. She remembered most of her travels in great detail, sacrificing the details of her family. I couldn’t blame her. Our family never loved her the way that they should’ve, so what else could’ve brought her so much joy and comfort in her last few years? I was grateful she passed before I got my diagnosis.

Everyone always said we were alike. Passionate about the same things. Wandering souls who left a piece of themselves everywhere they felt at home. Our little life, away from the ocean, was never good enough for us. Or maybe we weren’t good enough for that life. Either way, traveling made me feel closer to her. I would come home after every trip and share all of my stories with her. On her last day, she told me the shark story had been her favourite, and I needed to see it through so my nieces and nephews would have a wonderful ending.

A month after receiving my diagnosis, my parents visited me with a box of my aunt’s things. They pulled out a large beige envelope bearing my aunt’s sloppy print scrawled across the front: To my shark

“She was afraid you would get it, and told us to give this to you if she was right.”

They had looked so solemn that day. They just didn’t think her gift would be something this enjoyable. Or maybe they knew they could never enjoy it like she and I would.

That envelope laid on the table behind me. I glanced back, reminiscing about how my life had played out until this moment. Every time I had ever felt afraid of trying something new, not doing or saying something I’ve always wanted to, she was always there to support me. My aunt was right about my diagnosis, but I knew I couldn’t live the way she did. As much as I loved travelling, I loved my family more. Plus, I was about to meet my first niece. Maybe one day I could take her to the ocean and she could love it too.

I looked up from my intertwined fingers to the orange tinted horizon. One last glance before going to bed, leaving this place behind me, and possibly never returning. As if the universe had read my mind, I saw a fin cut through the stillness. In that moment, I forgot about my family and our future. I forgot every instinct that urged my body to safety. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, disturbing the calmness of the ocean and swimming as far as I reasonably could. With each stroke I remembered what my aunt had left me.

I remembered the cheque, the exact amount for this final trip. I got within 100 meters of the fin.

I remembered the photos of us and the mementos she had brought back from the places she called home. I ducked my head under the water.

I remembered her letter…

To my shark,

It’s a new nickname I know. And I know my memory is hazy, starting to fade away. I know you might end up this way too, but you’ll keep moving forward. Sharks always do.

I have loved you every day since you were born. You had a spark that could only belong to a traveler. I know you’ve done and will continue to do great things in life. All I ask is that you do one thing for me…

Finish that story.

I opened my eyes.

And I did.