Loss and Redemption
Please note this story is fictional and not based on any true events.
Melissa was at the bottom of the ocean. The deepest part of the coldest ocean. Blackness and silence ruled here. No light or sound seemed able or willing to penetrate the ocean’s depth.
To Melissa, the ocean itself seemed to be a living thing. It was cold and wet, devoid of empathy or sympathy. It seemed intent on consuming her. It squeezed in on her from every side, making the simplest movement impossible, depriving her even of the right to breathe.
Her body was tiny compared to the vastness of the wet, black thing that held her. Her skin was her last defense against it. The ocean threatened to break through it at any moment, allowing the blackness into places that it would never leave.
The ocean’s blackness seemed eternal. Its silence seemed eternal. It was Master of all things. There was no way around it and no way through it, and there was no sense resisting it.
***
When the light first appeared, it seemed out of place. The ocean had embraced only blackness, but the light was there never-the-less. It was small, almost pinpoint at first, but intensely white. The intensity of the light made Melissa close her eyes, but the light did not change. She tried to turn away from it, but it remained there, always directly in front of her.
The light seemed to be moving now. Getting closer or growing within her, she wasn’t sure which, but it continued to move and soon was upon her. Was there a shape in the light? A hand? A face? Was someone attempting to grab hold of her? If they were, their grasp was weak. They seemed to want to struggle with the blackness for control of Melissa’s body, but the struggle was futile. Melissa had no interest in the outcome. Let them struggle, she thought, what is it to me?
***
When the sound first arrived, it seemed even more out of place than the light. The ocean had embraced only silence, but the sound was there never-the-less. It seemed intrusive at first, perhaps even rude. Melissa tried to ignore it, but as she did, it only grew louder. It was initially a rumbling, indistinct sound, gradually becoming more focused, until she recognized the sound as a voice — and the voice spoke a word. “Missy!”.
Melissa wondered if she could really be hearing her name in the depths of the ocean. How was sound possible here. Who would know she was here? She was sure she had entered the ocean alone, and she wanted to stay there — alone. But the voice was persistent.
“Missy, what on earth are you doing?” There was near panic in the voice, “Here, take my hand,” it said, “you can’t stay there.”
The concern in the voice made Melissa want to reach for the light, but she felt unable to move. Seeing her struggle, the voice said “Just let go, your body will know what to do.”
***
Somewhere and sometime before the ocean, Melissa remembered that voice, and the voice new that she had loved to dance. She had been in dance lessons since she was very little and the voice had been there with her. She loved the music, the costumes, and the way her body felt when she danced. She loved the excitement of performing, the roar of the crowd at the end of a routine, the individual congratulations from friends and family who always seemed amazed by what she had been able to do, and more than that, she loved dance practice. The rigors of practice, the long hours, the pizza in the break room when practice was extended to ensure that every detail was perfected before a performance, and she loved her dance family. The ones who understood her, the ones who danced with her.
She recalled a time before a dance recital when and she had been working on a new jump. It had felt stiff and awkward to her. She was not sure if she should work it into her routine. Her grandmother had been at practice, as she often was.
“Of course you’re going to put it into your routine!” she had said, “You’ve been working too hard not to”.
“But Grama” Melissa had protested, “the coach thinks I’m not ready yet. He says I have to work on it more.”
“Well, what does he know about dancing?” her grandmother had asked. “Now, girls like you and me, we know about dancing.” She had raised her arms in the air and let her hands flow, imitating leaves waving on a breeze. “Just let go,” she had said, “your body will know what to do”.
There, at the bottom of the ocean, Melissa was sure she was hearing that voice again.
Melissa struggled to focus. The light and the voice seemed to be coming from the entrance to a cave. Melissa had been resisting the pull from the cave, but the voice from within was calm and reassuring. She relaxed her body and as she did, the blackness seemed to release its grip on her. The figure within the light pulled her into the cave and she collapsed onto the floor. The pressure of the ocean vanished and air exploded into her lungs. She breathed because she could breathe. She screamed because she could scream. She cried because she could cry. She slept, because she was exhausted.
***
When Melissa awoke, she was lying on the floor of the cave. The cave was dark and wet, but lighter and drier than the ocean. It was cold but warmer than the coldness of the ocean. How the cave was able to exist at the bottom of the ocean, she didn’t know. The ocean encroached on the mouth of the cave but was held at bay, by she knew not what. The ocean threatened to flood the cave at any moment, reclaiming Melissa, perhaps never to release her again.
In the dim light of the cave, Melissa saw a woman sitting propped up against the wall watching over her. The woman was visibly relieved when Melissa opened her eyes, as if the act of opening her eyes was a miracle a million years in the making.
“Oh, thank heavens, Missy,” she said, “I was afraid I had lost you.”
Melissa knew there was only one person who still called her Missy. Everyone else had stopped when she had gotten to high school and announced that she would henceforth be known as Melissa; after all, Missy was a baby’s name, and she was a young lady. Her grandmother had only smiled, saluted, and said yes ma’am, Missy it is.
The woman’s face came slowly into focus. “Grama?” asked Melissa in disbelief.
“Yes Missy?.” Her response was nonchalant. As if there was nothing absurd about finding oneself alone in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with one’s grandmother.
Melissa was confused, “Grama where are we?”, she asked.
“Well, I was hoping you could tell me that,” her grandmother answered with a giggle, “after all, you brought us here.”
Melissa’s confusion only grew. “What are you talking about Grama, I didn’t bring us here, I don’t even know where we are! How would I bring us here? Why would I bring us here?”
She was becoming agitated, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. She tried to sit up, but her body was limp and wouldn’t respond, and she became more agitated. As she did, the ocean began to roil at the mouth of the cave, and the cave seemed to be shrinking in on itself. Seeing her agitation, her grandmother moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder and said “Just relax Missy, you need to give it some time.”
At the touch of her grandmother’s hand, Melissa and the ocean both calmed. Melissa felt as if she hadn’t been touched in forever. The touch was gentle and comfortable and she began to relax.
Melissa thought about what her grandmother had meant to her as she was growing up. She had always been Melissa’s biggest fan and supporter. She had always been kind and caring, and never seemed for one minute ever to doubt that Melissa would accomplish anything she set her mind to. Melissa missed her very much.
That thought, the thought of missing her grandmother, seemed odd and somehow unsettling. Why she should miss someone who was sitting right there with her? And then she remembered something, and the memory stopped her breath. “Grama,” she asked haltingly, “how are you here with me, I mean how am I here with you, I mean…” the words seemed unwilling to form in her mouth, but with some effort she asked, “didn’t you die?”
“Did I?” her grandmother asked feigning surprise. “Hmm, I guess I did at that. But what of it, it’s no big deal.”
Melissa’s already cold blood seemed for a moment to run even colder and her breath caught in her chest. “Grama,” she asked, “…am I dead too?”
Her grandmother just giggled. “No Missy, you are very much alive.” She said it with such authority that Melissa knew it instantly to be true.
“But you’re not? Alive, I mean” asked Melissa.
“Not so far as I know. I believe I’ve ‘moved on’ as they say.”
To Melissa, her grandmother was more solid even than she was herself, and she seemed calm, and unafraid, as if nothing could harm her. Seeing that, Melissa relaxed slightly and the ocean retreated slightly as the space within the cave seemed to grow.
***
“Missy,” asked her grandmother after they had sat in silence for some time, “why are we here?”
“Gramma, I swear I don’t know where we are.” Melissa answered, a little calmer now knowing that her grandmother showed no signs of irritation, just what seemed to be genuine curiosity and concern.
“Missy,” her grandmother continued, “I didn’t ask where we are, I asked why we are here.”
“How do you think I would know that, Gramma?” Asked Missy.
“Well, perhaps I am asking the wrong question. Maybe how we got we got here is a better one to start with.”
Seeing that Melissa seemed unsure or how to answer, her grandmother continued, “Let’s take it one step at a time. Just try to tell me, what is the last thing you do remember before waking up in here.”
Melissa thought for a moment. Had there been anything before the Cave? She wasn’t sure. Then she remembered the ocean, and the memory of it filled her with terror. “I was in the ocean, gramma, and I couldn’t see any way out. I was suffocating, I thought I was dying.”
“It’s ok Missy,” her grandmother said reassuringly, “you’re fine now, I promise you are going to be ok.” She took Melissa by the hand and continued, “What about before the ocean? What happened before that?”
Before the ocean? Melissa struggled to remember. She remembered being alone in her bedroom. She remembered that another day had come to an end, a day without color. She remembered how alone she had felt. She remembered she had been thinking about the day ahead, and the thought had overwhelmed her, but for no reason she could easily identify. She remembered the effort it had taken to get through the previous day and she remembered wondering if she had the strength to get through the next one. She remembered that her room seemed a cold, dark place, a thing as dark and cold as she imagined an ocean might be. And she remembered a bottle of pills in her hand, …and she remembered taking the entire bottle.
The memory pierced her and her body shuck violently. How long ago was that? She had no idea. Why had she done that? She had no idea. She only knew that the memory of it filled her with remorse. “Gramma, I know why we are here, and I am so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” She sobbed uncontrollably.
Her grandmother’s grip on Melissa’s hand grew tighter. She couldn’t believe that her Missy, the child that seemed only a few years ago to be not just happy, but to be happiness embodied, could have arrived at such a dark place. She saw Melissa’s despair, and wished she could take it all from her and leave none of it behind for Melissa to bear, but all she could do was hold her. “Missy,” she said “it’s going to be OK. You are going to be OK.”
***
When Melissa stopped sobbing, she looked up at her grandmother and said, “I don’t want to be here anymore, but I feel like there is nothing outside this tiny cave but the ocean.”
“Oh, but there is Melissa,” said her grandmother, “there is so much more than this, just waiting for you to discover, but you have to leave here to see it.”
“But,” Melissa protested, “I really don’t know how to leave.”
“I think how to leave, will be easier to answer, once we now why we are here in the first place” her grandmother suggested.
Melissa sensed no hint of recrimination in her grandmother’s voice, just the same genuine concern and curiosity she had heard before. She knew that what her grandmother was really asking her was why had she attempted suicide.
Why had she taken the pills?
Melissa remembered the pandemic. She had been a little worried about getting sick, but she wouldn’t say that she was overly worried. In fact, she was pretty sure that the infection wouldn’t be too bad even if she did get it. She remembered the lockdown, the school closures, the cancelation of dance classes, of parties, of sporting events, of everything, but none of that seemed really all that bad. Sure, she was annoyed and maybe a bit angry, but then so was everyone else, and she knew it wouldn’t last forever. None of that should have filled her with the overwhelming sense of sadness, and hopelessness that she had felt — not even the recent breakup. She understood that it was hard to “stay together when they couldn’t be together.”
Why had she taken the pills?
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She cast about for an explanation, but couldn’t find one. Afterall, she was a freshman in high school, on the dance team, her grades were good, in fact excellent, school wasn’t hard. She had plans for the future. She liked her teachers and they liked her. She loved her friends and they loved her. True, she hadn’t spent any time at school or with any of her friends in more than a year, but those warm feelings were still there, even if they seemed remote and irrelevant as she lay on her bed in her room, alone, with a bottle of pills in her hand.
Why had she taken the pills?
She remembered the sense of loss she felt when her grandmother died, and after a long pause, she said “I think maybe it’s because you died, Gramma.” It seemed more like a question than a statement.
“Because I died!?” Her grandmother seemed flabbergasted. “I mean I’m very touched, but that seems an odd reason to confine yourself to this horrible cave. Are you sure that’s the reason?”
Melissa thought for a moment. “I don’t know grama, I just don’t know,” she answered.
“Well look here Missy, Grandparents need to leave before their grandchildren for us it’s a blessing. It’s the way things work. There’s no need for you to drag us to this cold, dark cave just because I died” she continued. “And anyway, it’s really not all that bad! In fact, I am fine with it. You needn’t worry about me.”
Melissa knew her grandmother was right. She had loved her grandmother very much, and she was saddened by her passing, but she knew that that wasn’t really the reason for her suicide attempt. No, there was still something else, another emotion she still couldn’t quite name.
Why had she taken those pills?
What was that emotion? She remembered feeling anxious. Often. Her parents were not able to work during the lock-down, so they were home a lot, and they argued a lot. They fought about money, they fought about the things that Melissa should and should not be allowed to do. She had never thought about money before. Now she worried about it all the time. Her parents tried to keep their fights to themselves, but Melissa could overhear them. Were they going to lose the house? What else might they lose?
Why had she taken those pills?
She remembered feeling sad too that the adults in her life seemed angry all the time. Adults stopped behaving like adults! They argued about where the virus had come from, they argued about quarantines and lock-downs, about vaccines and treatments, but mostly they argued about whose fault it was. Who should be punished and who was to blame? Neighbors who had been friends with her family for years stopped talking to them because of what seemed senseless arguments about things she didn’t understand.
Why had she taken those pills?
She remembered not knowing who to believe, and she wasn’t sure who she could talk to. People’s reactions when she brought up any topic, seemed to be unpredictable. People who used to like to talk about things, would get angry with her if she asked questions. She had so many things inside, and no-one seemed to understand, or to care.
Why had she taken those pills?
She remembered fear. The nightly News seemed to be predicting the end of everything. Social media responses to her posts were horrible. She had never experienced anything like it before. Was there any way back from this? She remembered desperately wishing that things would get back to normal, and thinking that they never would; unless she took things into her own hands… and then she remembered… her grandmother’s death had been her fault.
“Grama,” she cried, “it was my fault… you died because of me!”
***
Her grandmother seemed truly surprised “what on earth are you talking about?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean it, I just missed dance class and my friends. I didn’t mean for you to get sick,” Melissa broke down and cried.
Her grandmother looked puzzled. After a few minutes she said “Missy, you’re doing a flyby here.” It was a phrase Melissa had heard her use so many times when she wasn’t sure what Melissa was trying to say.
Melissa tried to explain. “Dance lessons, grama! They were canceled because of the lockdowns. We were all supposed to stay home. Then I had to get the bright idea to have a pop-up practice. I invited the whole team. I snuck out of the house and we met in the schoolyard. Everybody on the team came grama. Everybody.”
Melissa expected her grandmother to be angry, maybe even disappointed, but the smile on her face showed neither emotion. She looked almost proud, like a parent who knows that their child has done something wrong, but the thing was so clever, they couldn’t help but give that covert thumbs up — you shouldn’t do that, but wow, you go kid!
After a brief silence, her grandmother spoke. “I’m still not sure what any of that has to do with me.”
Melissa seemed exasperated. “Grama, you died of COVID. One of my girlfriends kept coughing the whole practice. I think I brought it home with me gave it to you. It’s my fault that you got sick…” she looked away from her grandmother as her voice trailed off.
When she looked back up at her grandmother, Melissa was surprised to see that her expression showed neither pain nor grief. In fact, she was smiling. And then she started laughing. A laugh full of relief and joy.
For reasons she couldn’t quite understand, seeing her grandmother laugh made her want to laugh too, but she didn’t. “Grama, I’m being serious, it was my fault”
“Poppycock Melissa!” Her grandmother for the first time seemed animated. “What utter nonsense. You are a little miracle it’s true, but no one gave you power over life and death. I died because it was my time. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“But grama, everyone said that if people didn’t stay home, they would have blood on their hands, that it was selfish not to stay home, and that it showed you didn’t care about other people. Everyone was so angry all the time. Fighting and arguing over what to do, who was I supposed to believe?”
Her grandmother embraced her in a tight hug. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Melissa felt warm. A warmth that started in her core and spread throughout her body.
“So, we are here because you feel guilty?” asked her grandmother.
Melissa thought for a moment. “I was just trying to make things better, Grama, but I only seemed to make them worse. Everything I tried seemed to make things worse. And when you were in the hospital, they wouldn’t even let me see you. I felt so… powerless.”
Melissa realized that that was the emotion she hadn’t been unable to name. Powerlessness. “Grama,” she said, “I feel terrible and I am so sorry, and I didn’t get to tell you that.” Her voice trailed off. “Grama, are you dead because I am selfish?”
“Of course not. Melissa. The people who said those things were just wrong! They don’t understand how things work. They don’t understand that a grandmother would rather die with her granddaughter near her than live without her! They see a situation that is too complicated for them to understand, but they pretend to understand it anyway, and it leads them to say outrageous, ridiculous things. ‘Everyone stay at home! Oh yeah, but not the doctor’s or the nurses, ok and not the grocery workers or truck drivers, or police or so on.’ And every time they think of something they didn’t consider before, they say ‘oh, but not them either’ and ‘not me on my birthday or when I need a haircut, but everyone else.’ When people tell them that what they are saying doesn’t make any sense, they get angry. They pretend they know better and pretend that people who disagree with them are evil. Evil!? Imagine telling a child she is responsible for her grandmother’s death! Now that is evil. It makes me so angry.”
“But still, maybe if I had stayed home…”
“Melissa, stop. Do you know that the week before I got sick my girlfriends and I had a pop-up party of our own? Sherry and bridge.” she said in a very self-satisfied tone. “It was the first time in months that any of us had been happy. None of us had any symptoms. We all said we would stay home if we did. I was also out to the market twice that week. I am a child of the sixties; I couldn’t have stayed home anyway. None of us could have. But I do know that Mrs. Rhodes — you know the lady who lives a few doors down from me — she never left the house and still ended up getting sick. She’s still in hospital now, poor dear.”
“So, I didn’t give it to you?” asked Melissa.
“Did you even have it?” asked her grandmother, “because I don’t remember you being sick, and as far as I know, you can’t give it to anyone if you don’t have it.”
“I don’t know. I never got tested. I was afraid to after you got sick. I was afraid I would be positive. I was afraid everyone would know I had gone out.”
Her grandmother giggled, “me neither. There is so much of me in you”, she couldn’t hide her pride in saying that.
“Anyway, as far as I know” her grandmother continued, “you didn’t create the virus and you didn’t decide who would get it or who wouldn’t or who would recover or who wouldn’t. Those decisions were made by a power far greater than you or I.”
Melissa folded into her grandmother’s arms and laid her head against her chest and cried. She cried an ocean of tears, and as she cried, the ocean above her seemed slowly to evaporate. She felt lighter and freer than she had in as long as she could remember.
“You know Missy,” said her grandmother with an encouraging smile, “I never did get to see your dance recital’
Melissa stood up and danced. The entire routine. Her jump was effortless. Her grandmother laughed and cheered, and Melissa felt her delight.
***
When her dance had ended, Melissa went to sit beside her grandmother. “Grama,” she said “when you died, I never got to say goodbye. They wouldn’t let me come to the hospital. I wanted to be there; I really did. I didn’t want you to be alone. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”
“I never thought of anything of the sort.” Her grandmother replied. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to come. I wanted you to be safe. That’s all. Thank you for giving me that peace of mind. And in any event, I wouldn’t want your last memory of me to have been a of sad old woman on some god-awful breathing machine. That was not who I was”
It was a perspective Melissa hadn’t considered. It pleased her to know that her grandmother wouldn’t have wanted to put her at any risk and would have been in favor of the hospital visitation policy.
“Melissa, you are my connection to the future.” her grandmother continued. “I’ve lived my life and I have no regrets. I am very proud of the person I was I want nothing more than for you to do the same. Truly! That is my best chance for happiness too. I’ll stay in this cave with you forever if that’s what you need, but I’d rather be with you out there.” She pointed to the mouth of the cave.
A coldness gripped Melissa, replacing the warmth she had felt. “I don’t know if I can grama,” she said. “I’m afraid of the ocean.”
“I’ll be there with you, it’s just water, we’ll float through it together.”
“But even if I do get through, I don’t know if I can face everyone. What will they say?”
“You are not leaving here for them. You are leaving here because you deserve to be happy. It doesn’t matter what they say or what they think. Embrace the joy of the dance.”
After a long silence, her grandmother spoke again. “Melissa,” she said, “I think it’s time to go.”
“I know,” said Melissa.
***
Melissa stepped out of the cave hand in hand with her grandmother. The ocean seemed less oppressive now. She gently pushed off the floor and began ascending. From inky blackness to dark green, to murky blue, then crystal clear water, finally breaking the surface and breathing, as if for the first time ever.
She let the tide carry her to the shore and stepped out onto a beach of soft white sand. The earth beneath her feet felt firm. On solid ground, she felt able to move in any direction of her own choosing. She felt a sense of control that had left her a long time ago.
Melissa turned to look at her grandmother. The woman standing with her now seemed tall, straight, youthful, and strong.
The sun was a soft yellow light on the horizon. The woman spoke, “You stay here for now,” she said. “I have to move on, but I will be with you. Stop worrying, be happy.”
Melissa let go of her hand and the woman receded into the light, but the light remained.
As she stared at the light, Melissa became aware that she was looking at the soft yellow light of a lamp on a bedside table. She found herself lying in a hospital bed, curled up comfortably on her side. In front of the lamp was a photograph. It was the picture of a young woman. She was standing on a white sandy beach wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt, bell-bottom pants, and a macrame belt. She had shoulder-length, full-bodied auburn hair. Her hand was extended, and a butterfly had landed on her finger. She was smiling the smile of someone who had just been released from a dungeon.
“That’s my grandmother,” Melissa said.
Melissa’s mother, who was sitting by her bedside was startled. “Yes””, she said, “it is. That picture was taken in 1969.”
“She loved to dance.”
