On my 49th birthday my brother bought me a very impressive, very expensive pink surfboard. A few months later he died alone on the floor of his filthy apartment. He laid there dead for 5 days before someone found him and I received the phone call from the police.
You see I was not a surfer and he was not rich enough to be buying me such a frivolous gift. I was a struggling widow trying to pick up the pieces of my life by moving to a tropical island and he was a struggling alcoholic newly divorced and pining for some contact his 3 children.
This was not always our lot in life. We had like many people ridden the rollercoaster of life with gusto, had many ups and downs. We kept getting back in line and buying more tickets though hoping maybe one time we would get stuck way up at the top. From there looking down at the world it was breathtaking and anything seemed possible. We always held each other’s hand up there but let go, and threw our hands in the air, for the belly twisting descent.
Well I took that surfboard and bought another ticket to ride. My dear brother did not, and chose to roam around like an old carney down below, this is where our paths diverged. I tried desperately to talk him into another ride. Buying him tickets, pleading from above. Screaming about the ride and reminding him just how fun it could be. Enticing him with dreams of cotton candy and giant stuffed animals. But he had been duped just one too many times and his dresser top at home was full of cheap, useless little trinkets.
The carnival of his charmed life was packing up and moving on and I, well I joined the circus. Yearning for the big top life, I left him behind.
Not that things may have turned out any differently but it was a choice I regret to this day. The big top life was hard and without him to talk to, to ride with, life was just not the same. I never bought another ticket for the rollercoaster I just went around, and round on the merry-go- round too scared to even let my grip go to try and grab for the golden ring.
Some days at the circus I had chosen to live in I would be overcome by fatigue and then grief would set in. I had lost my husband and my brother, my two-favorite people in life. Sometimes I would look up at the sky and rage at them. Other times I was truly jealous of them. Imagining them seated together on a fluffy cloud, laughing, free from all the strife of life.
I continued to muddle through my new life, I can’t say it was the paradise I had imagined. The days were long I was working hard just to get by. There was little time at first to even go to the beach let alone try out the shiny pink surfboard. It just taunted me from the corner of my porch. On my 53rd birthday, a blustery October day with the tropical winds blowing, the surfboard fell over, it cracked. I cried…hard.
Enough was enough I grabbed the board and stalked down to the beach. Fumbling to put the leash around my ankle like I had seen other surfers do so deftly, I continued to cry. The angry tumultuous waves crashing near my feat drowned my sobs. I mustered up the courage to enter the water and threw myself on top of the board. I floundered trying to get balanced and paddle my way out. It was hard, I wanted to turn back. From the corner of my eye I saw a fading rainbow to the left. Just the remnants of its beauty… the remnants of my hope. I kept paddling.
I remembered the story of how my brother got the board. It had been late in the afternoon; he took my 7-year-old son with him to get me a gift. I thought that was sweet and was looking forward to the wilted flowers from the supermarket and maybe a card or balloon. I was just happy to see my brother trying to teach my son, that you must at least try to make an effort on your Mother’s birthday, never let it pass unnoticed.
They were gone for over an hour and although I hated myself for it, I was worried that I had let my son go off with his drunk uncle in a car. He hadn’t been so drunk that day, just maintaining. When they returned with the enormous surfboard with a giant bow on it I was stunned. A surfboard… I had always wanted one. Always wanted to learn to surf, but shit I was almost 50 now. They were giggling and so proud of themselves that it was infectious. I was thrilled.
They told me about getting to the surf shop and the doors being locked. My brother had pounded on the door and begged the owner to let them in. How he had to use a mix of his two credit cards and all his cash to make the purchase. How the guy gave them the giant bow to adorn the gift for free. How it was all worth it now just to see my happy face. It was a beautiful day in my life. So, on this day that memory kept me paddling forward.
I was finally able to get past the breaking waves and out to the lineup. I was exhausted from being hammered by the surf. Out there among the real surfers, I straddled my board and sat proudly. They all knew me from town but had never seen me in this venue. We chatted, they gave me pointers on how to catch the wave, how to get up quickly on the board. When the swell came upon us they cheered me and shouted “Paddle, paddle, paddle!” I did, and the wave took me, swiftly. I didn’t even try to stand up, I just rode that rush of white water straight onto the shore, screaming wildly all the way. Screaming thank you to my brother for the board, to the universe for another day, for another thrill ride.
I did learn to surf after that, not well, but surfing the waves none the less. Every time I stand up on that board, hit the drop of a wave and get that squeamish feeling in my belly, I think of all the roller coaster rides of life my brother and I took together. I imagine him up there on his puffy cloud cheering this old lady on.