Rememberance

Photo Source:  Tom Davidson

In my dreams, she stands with her back to me. Her caramel hair reaches her lower back in cascading waves. As the wind blows, the scent of lavender permeates the air. Her scent. She turns and smiles–teeth gleaming white, perfect. It is her eyes that command attention: aqua blue with flecks of gold. I’ve seen colors like that once after a storm in the Caribbean Sea; standing on the Seven Mile Beach in Grand Cayman with my husband on our honeymoon, I broke down in tears, then, when memories fluttered into my mind for a moment before I pushed them away. Not because I wanted to, but because it was too hard to remember...her.

Her name was Julia and she was my sister. When I am asked if I have any brothers or sisters, my answer is, “Yes, a brother–John.” It’s not the whole truth, but I do not lie to be deceitful. I lie to protect my heart. For years after her death, I couldn’t even say her name. Sometimes, it’s just easier to live in denial.

Julia was eight years older than me. Growing up next to perfection would make others resentful or jealous, but not me. I felt blessed to have Julia as a sister. She never failed in making me feel loved beyond anything or anyone. Despite the age difference, she would come into my room at bedtime and share the adventures of her day and involve herself in mine. When I was sad or hurt, she lent an understanding ear and comforted me until my tears were replaced with a smile.

Built like an Olympian, Julia’s thirst for adventure was undeniable. Much to my mother’s constant worry, Julia also lacked fear, particularly when it came to physical activities. She would try anything once: snow skiing, water skiing, ice skating; you name it, she would try it. But her true love was the water. “I feel such peace when I am in the water. There is nothing more beautiful,” she would always say to me.

During the summer months, we would spend it at my Aunt Kitty’s house in Ft. Lauderdale. There, Julia would live in her bathing suit until it became a second skin. I imagined that she was a water creature doomed to be on dry land and always longing to be home again, feeling its dark blue call. “Please be careful.” My aunt would beg to deaf ears whenever she and our cousins would go swimming. I never worried because I trusted her strength; she was an amazing swimmer, and an amazing teacher. With great patience, she taught me to swim, and to do it well.

I relish those memories when I have the courage to play them in my mind. I can hear her sweet sing-song voice, “I’m going to live right on the ocean when I’m older, Katie. You can live with me too and we’ll lie under the sun and swim all day.” Sometimes in my dreams, we do just that.

When she was seventeen, Julia begged my mother to let her learn to scuba dive. “Absolutely NOT!” My mother was horrified at the notion. I now realize it was fear that something bad would happen. “It is far too dangerous, people die all the time from doing that.”

“That’s because they weren’t careful,” Julia said, knowingly. “I’m a good swimmer and I’m careful, please.”

“No.” Mother refused to budge. Julia didn’t quit–nagging, pestering–really whatever she could do to make my mother reconsider, Julia would do it. The draw was too much for her, Julia would say to me. Being nine years old, I didn’t quite understand why this was so important to her. I knew she loved the water, but the idea of being underneath for so long was quite scary. I mean wasn’t swimming enough? “It’s not the same.” she would say.

At 18, mother relented, begrudgingly, after all, Julia would be heading off to college in the fall, and she was “almost an adult,” Dad would gently remind her. “No little girl anymore, Nora.”

We spent that summer at Aunt Kitty’s again, and Julia got her wish. John and I didn’t see Julia much that summer. Her days were spent with daily lessons at the pool, hours of lectures, breathing practices with her best friend Cayla as her partner, trips on the dive boat, and the ultimate: five open water dives.

Julia was ecstatic when she became PADI certified. It was a badge of honor for her. The prize at the end of a long journey. “I did it, Katie!” She picked me and spun me around. I laughed, still not understanding its importance, but nonetheless happy for my sister. Julia stayed behind three extra weeks after John and I left for home. I wished I stayed with her.

*******

It was August 25, 1995, 5:10 pm. I heard my mother wailing downstairs. John rushed past my room, but I didn’t move. I stayed there frozen. Did I know that my life, our lives, were about irrevocably change? Did I know at that moment that I would never be truly happy ever again? Did I know that I would never see Julia’s face again? I must have known something as sorrow filled my soul; I couldn’t breathe, I stumbled to the door calling out to my mother, who couldn’t hear my cry over hers. I lay there on the floor until John came to get me. “Something happened, Katie.” John’s face was red, tears filled his eyes. That alone, scared me, because John, in his 13 years, never cried.

Dad told me a while later the “how.” He was the only one who could still form words. It was their last trip out to celebrate the end of summer and the start of their new lives–Julia, Cayla, our cousins Randall, and Eric; all young, healthy, everything to live for, and they would do just that. Except Julia. My Julia, my sister, my best friend, my everything; nothing left but emptiness and despair.

The currents were strong that day. Julia said she was always careful, but I guess she wasn’t on that day. They were fine at first, paired up as they should be; Julia was with Randall, Cayla with Eric. After a short time in the water, Randall indicated they should return to the boat, he knew that it wasn’t safe. An avid diver for four years, he knew that currents could be tricky. They all ascended, but not Julia. Randall went down to find her, but it was too late. Two weeks, later she came home.

*******

I grew up that summer, way beyond my years. My childhood stripped away in a phone call. I couldn’t fathom a life without Julia. I loved her so much and I also hated her for leaving me. Why did my mother relent? Why did Julia have to go out one more time? Why? Why? Why?

Our family moved on in different ways: Mom became harder, distant from all of us; Dad aged twenty years and I never saw the twinkle in his eyes again; John and I became closer, desperate to hold onto any piece of that once close-knit family we remember. We never wanted to admit that without Julia, it would never be that way again. I wished I could see her one last time. Her smiling face...her eyes...especially her eyes. None of us had her astonishing eyes and I missed them terribly–they exuded love and kindness whenever they looked at you.

*******

It’s my niece’s fifth birthday. She squeals as she opens my present: a large Victorian dollhouse. She runs into my waiting arms and give me a tight hug. “I love you, Aunt Kate!” I look down, my brown eyes meet her aqua ones, and I smile. “I love you too, Julia.”