The water shimmers baby blue beneath a blushing pink sky and it seems Bob and I are the only people on earth, sitting on a second floor balcony set on pylons, our ears alone tasting the whoosh and eyaahh of the Atlantic. A fish jumps with a sharp flash, leaving circles in the water like a target. One wave follows another, some breaking off in pieces, others collapsing with a hard whump like a dropped I-beam.
The first walkers appear on the packed sand, two women ambling towards a shy sun.
Yesterday, as Bob and I celebrated his sixty-third birthday, the nursing staff at Chambersburg Hospital took my mother off the high-flow oxygen apparatus and my brother stepped towards her bed. My father took a place on the other side and tethered one of her hands. My brother held the other and they sat, father and son, waiting for mom to fly away. But she held on, her lungs doing what they have always done, making that slow whoosh and eyaahh that sang to all six of her children in the womb.
A young couple passes beneath me without even a glance at the giant sand bags tucked around the pylons. The dam has opened. A lone woman with a blanket over her shoulders — her face momentarily brightened by the light of her phone, a woman in salmon, a pair of women — one in black holding a stout mug like a lantern, the other in a pale hoodie — another woman in black, all of them walking into that peachy glow.
I wore a black cover-up over my bathing suit yesterday during a long, eastward stroll with Bob. It wasn’t anything I would wear in public, but I’d brought it for comfort and it was handy. After some deliberation, I pulled in on. I have never worn black on a beach before.
We had nearly reached the end of the beach, when I saw my doppelganger — a silver-haired woman in a loose, black dress. She was tanned and long-limbed and I watched her bend easily to flip a shell at her feet. I took a few more strides before veering towards her. I had made up my mind. I must speak with this woman or live with regret.
She was younger than me, her hair was longer, and she wore a golden smile. Our idle talk masked a shimmering connection. We parted and when we saw her later, she told her friend, “Camille is my twin!”
Covid has kept us from random encounters like this, highlighting the importance of casual conversation with strangers. But here, at the edge of the earth with the breeze and slapping water we are freed up for small talk.
Mom rallied all day, talking on the phone, receiving visitors, breathing low-flow oxygen. She sang Happy Birthday to Bob over the phone and I told her about the beautiful ocean and how grateful I was to her for teaching me to swim. “You held my hands and told me to kick,” I said, and she giggled.
But she grows uncomfortable this morning and the nurses begin giving her morphine. She lays on her side asleep as her sons and their spouses gather, taking turns saying goodbye. It’s hard to believe she had so much life in her yesterday. “I don’t feel like I’m dying,” she said. Finally, shortly after noon, my mother takes her last breath.
The dog walkers appear at the same time the horizon births the sun, round and orange and so bright I have to look away. Bob snaps away, catching the glory of a new day and filing it away in pixels. The woman with the mug and her young companion return with the sun on their backs. A clacking grackle lands on the white gutter above us, black against the blue sky, and then against all odds, the beach is completely empty.
15 replies on “Women in Black”
Sorry to hear about your mom’s passing. Sounds like she lived a long, beautiful life leaving her family with many wonderful memories. I never met her, but I have happy memories of listening to her sing on FB. 💗 May the love of family and friends and all your wonderful memories bring you peace. 💗 💗
This is beautiful Camille. I’m sorry your Mom has left her earthly body. Sending hugs and love to you and Bob and to all who love her.
This brought tears to my eyes. I’m so sorry your mom passed…she was a lovely person and raised wonderful children. She was ready though and wasn’t afraid. She was blessed to be surrounded by family. My deepest condolences to everyone.
Your writing always moves me.
In Greece when a loved ones passes we say, “May their memory be eternal.”
Sending you lots of love!
Oh, Camille! This is incredibly beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I’m so sorry that we ever lose our mothers but it sounds like you had a wonderful connection with her that will remain with and part of you. Wishing you peace and comfort in the memories. 💗
You’ve shared your mother’s passing so gracefully, so lovingly and shown us her transition was a part of nature. Condolences, Camille. Our very best to you and Bob and everyone.
Such a beautiful tribute Camille. I enjoyed reading and being included. Hoping you are blessed soon with a new sunrise, rainbows to follow. Aloha dear friend.
Beautifully written. Beautiful sentiments.
My deepest condolences, Camille. I’m so glad I got to hear your Mother sing and see her smile these last few years. She was such a lovely presence.
I am so sorry for your loss Camille. My sincere condolences to you and your family. You shared a truly loving tribute. May your mother Rest In Peace.
Camille, I am in shock – your mom was coming home. Please know that I am holding you in love and light. I guess In a way – she has gone home.
Yes, my mother has gone home, peacefully, with music and family. We should all be this lucky when our time comes. Thank you all for your condolences. I feel the love!
Oh beautiful Camille. These words are so beautiful. I am so sorry for your great loss. What a gorgeous way to leave this world. What a treasure she gifted us in you. May you continue to feel her deep and infinite love thru the veils. Love to you and yours.
Our condolences to you and Bob. Your writing is so soothing and complete. Our prayers are with you.
Lives well lived! So much to celebrate and love! So much joyous grief! Well done!
So beautifully written. I believe your Mom is smiling upon you.