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The Last Wave

 

These stories feel like yesterday. 

The pain. 

The scars. 

The anger. 

They lived in me 

for years.

 

But through study, 

reflection, 

and grace— 

I’ve learned to look back. 

To face the fear. 

To face the wrongs. 

And in doing so, 

I’ve found mercy.

 

One last memory 

before the tide turns.

 

We went to the beach, 

just one street over. 

Mom was fearless. 

It was as if she shouted at life, 

“Come get me— 

I’ve got something for you.”

 

She could surf. 

She wore a white bikini. 

She looked radiant. 

Not just because 

she was my mother— 

but because she was 

alive 

in that moment.

 

I have pictures. 

Not many. 

But the ones I do have 

shine with hope— 

as if whispering, 

“Hold on. 

It gets better. 

Keep pushing. 

Stay focused. 

The good life 

is coming.”

 

Watching her 

on that surfboard, 

I saw how she faced life. 

Head-on. 

No wavering. 

No stopping. 

Just doing.

 

She didn’t always 

get it right. 

But she tried. 

She pressed through 

the waves. 

She pressed through 

the chaos. 

She pressed through 

for us.

 

And now— 

the tide shifts.

 

This is where 

the water deepens. 

Where the shoreline changes. 

Where the girl I was 

steps into a world 

she wasn’t ready for.

 

Let’s walk into 

my middle years— 

where bad 

went to worse, 

where pain 

chased purpose, 

where everyone acted 

from their own wounds.

 

And the results? 

They shaped 

everything 

that came next.