The Sea of Mara

There have been times where I look back on last year’s events with incredulity. However instead of discussing them with other members of my family I just mull them over in my head. Voicing my disbelief would do me no good, for no one save myself and Mara know the truth. If others do know the truth they choose to disregard it in favor of a more plausible conclusion. Mara would not have wanted everyone to assume she is dead however, because my Mara is not dead. My Mara is simply part of the sea now, she is part of the air now, God understood that she was too good for the world, and he granted her wish to become part of the sea. My Mara is not dead, and she is not gone. All I have to do to remind myself that she is not gone is go down to the ocean, when it is very quiet, when the fog keeps the world away, and listen.

Her father will tell you that Mara was depressed. She was not depressed she was tired, tired of the same dizzy dance of nothing that goes one around us every day. Mara told me once how she hated all the yelling and petty battles of her day to day existence. Only once did she tell me, never again. Soon she stopped calling me at all. One day I wrote her a letter, she never replied. My Mara was already gone you see, she may have been present physically but her soul was gone and in it’s place a shell stood. A shell of the beautiful person I grew up with. A shell of the girl who taught me everything about growing up. A shell of my sister. Mara had a real sister, whom I would have died to be, but she was still my sister in every way that mattered.

I find it highly ironic that Mara chose the sea as her escape. It is even more curious that she chose the north sea, a sea I am particularly fond of. So many times did I try and bring God to Mara and it never worked, it never filled her shell, but the sea did, my sea, the north sea. Maybe she heard God there finally and he called her home. I myself have contemplated running away to a small town on the north sea, not for vacation as most people, including Mara, go there , but for forever. Life is simple in the clean air by the cold sea. Mara understood the magic of the sea, of nature, she may not have realized she was in touch with heaven, but she was. I take comfort in the image that brings her family to tears, the image of Mara running into the dark water and floating away. They never found her body, the authorities say she froze to death. They never found her body because she did not die. Mara is the ocean now, Mara is the waves that crash through the night in a lullaby that never ceases. Mara is free. Catholics believe that suicides do not go to heaven, but that does not really matter, Mara was not a Catholic. Besides her not being Catholic she was not a suicide, my Mara simply went home.

It is truly a wonder that nature ever allowed Mara to be born into such a cruel place. She was not perfect, far from it, it was Mara that taught me to cuss, but she was better than most. Mara was so kind, she saw the best in everyone, and she was so beautiful. The world deprived her of her gentle spirit and made her into the shell I mentioned before. I thank God that she was with me for however brief a time. In years to come I will think of her and be sad because she will not be with me. We won’t go to college or graduate high school together. Mara won’t be at my wedding like I planned, someone else will have to be my maid of honor. Mara won’t be able to be a godmother to my future children like I planned. If I ever have a daughter I think I will at least give her Mara as a middle name.

I haven’t told you much of the actual story have I? I apologize, I am not very good at being a psychiatric patient. I do not see the point in grief counseling to be honest. You know that already don’t you, that is why you asked me to write this down for you isn’t it. Because I cannot bring myself to say these things out loud, because even though I believe them with all of my heart I cannot say them aloud because then everyone will see that I am one of the only people who really knew Mara, and that will frighten them. Well here it is: Mara Sylvia Tate walked into the north sea on July seventh and never walked out. She is survived by her mother, father, sister, and many friends, and by me. I am the childhood friend who saw past the shell. I am the one who knew she was better than this world, I am the one who tried to tell her that she was a princess of heaven, I am the one who she forgot. My Mara left this world thinking that her only hope was to return to the forces that understood her, the wind and the water. What she forgot was that I understood her, and I still do.