A chilly, gray, damp morning in late October—how appropriate. The salty wetness of the sand at the Cape May, New Jersey, shore is seeping through her jeans, and the dampness of the air is making her wool fisherman's sweater feel heavy and sodden as she sits at the edge of the water, watching the waves roll in and out. Her soul feels heavy and sodden, too. The salty wet tears only roll out.
How long do you have to grieve a fifteen-year relationship, she wondered. He loved the ocean from the time he was small. The minute they arrived at a beach and she parked the car and opened the door, he would be out and heading for the water. He would have been ecstatic to live in any of those tiny waterfront beach cottages year-round so he could spend every waking moment in the water. She often referred to him as her golden water baby. The water really didn't have to be an ocean; he was perfectly happy at lakes, ponds and slow moving streams.
And now here she was, staring at the water, hoping to see him come bounding out to check in with her before bounding back. But he wouldn't. All that was left of him she held in a cardboard box in her hand. It only seemed right to return his ashes to the place he loved the best, but letting go was so hard. Oh, so hard.
She thought back to when she first saw him, and smiled as she remembered being smitten from the start at his energy and personality. She thought of their time together as a non-stop dance of unconditional love. How would she ever find that again? Would she have to live her life alone or with a less-than-perfect relationship that would have to measure up to this one. Could she bear that?
She stood up slowly and looked at the box in her hands. Maybe she should just go home and place the ashes in an urn, where she could find comfort in them when she needed to. But no, he was her golden water baby, and deserved to be given back to the water. Her steps heavy, she approached the waves, opened the box and released the remains of her beloved Labrador retriever where the waves would wash them into the Atlantic. When the last of his remains had disappeared in the outgoing tide, she turned away from the water. "Goodbye, my sweet Basil!" she said, "Swim happy."
