Enamoured

Well I came home
Like a stone
And I fell heavy into your arms
These days of dust
Which we’ve known
Will blow away with this new sun

But I’ll kneel down
Wait for now
And I’ll kneel down
Know my ground

And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you

I will wait. Mumford & Sons

A warm, sunny Monday morning. Blue skies, bright sunshine, a slight wind blowing from the south-east. When I arrive, a little late as I come directly from school, I see a small gathering on the beach. Men and women, old and young, in flowery dresses and bikinis. Children playing in the sand. All of them staring out onto the ocean, where not too far from the shore, a circle of surf boards and rubber boats is forming. Some of the onlookers are holding colourful roses in their hands – bright pink, and yellow and red. All I can hear is the surf rolling ashore, the seagulls circling above our heads, muted conversations amongst the onlookers.

When the circle on the water is complete, the paddlers in the distance take each other by the hand and words are being said, though they do not reach us on the shore. Prayers, memories, good wishes… I can only imagine. A floating memorial. We catch a glimpse of ashes being scattered into the water, followed by cheering and lots of water splashing. Ashore, friends, and family step closer to the water, careful not to get their shoes wet, and throw their single roses into the waves. Sand speckled with petals like sprinkles on fairy bread. It’s her party and I cry if I want to.

Sandra. I met Sandra six years ago, when I first arrived in Australia. Fresh off the boat (or plane, I should say), my plan was to live close to the school in Terrey Hills. Never having been much of a beach person, I declared with conviction that I did not need to be near the ocean and that living in this suburb surrounded by National Park was just fine with me.

Until I realized that things pretty much shut down at 5pm in this place and that living right next to the school wasn’t the greatest plan. The fact that I was living in an Airbnb with a creepy host and a child-sized bed, only added to the urgency that I needed a different place to stay. Pronto!

And in came Sandra! A friend of a colleague, whom I had just met, introduced me to her and the idea of living by the ocean in a little blue house by the sea. The rest is history.

I remember sitting at the wooden table in Sandra’s homey kitchen, having a friendly conversation with who was to be not only my first Australian landlady, but also a friend and strong support in anything I did. Sandra loved the idea of my wanting to write about my experiences in Down Under and though, looking back, she may have been a little disappointed in my writing skills, she believed in me and offered me a place to stay that became a huge part of my Australian experience.

During my first Australia tour, Sandra showed me coastal walks and coffee talks, explained local fauna and cultures to me. Invited me to her infamous family Christmas gathering, joined my one-off bookclub meeting, and went to the U2 concert with me in tow. Sandra kept the right distance a landlady should keep, and gave the support a friend would give. “If sunshine were a person, Sandra would be her name.”

Things had changed when I returned to Newport Beach two years later in 2022. The sun was still shining, the beach was still beautiful. The ocean kept on rolling. I now lived in a different little house, white this time, closer to the beach and a little further away from Sandra. At times our paths would cross, at the cafe Saturday mornings or at the shops in the frozen aisle. We were friendly but not close friends. I had heard that Sandra’s cancer had returned and that she was fighting hard to beat this despicable disease. And Sandra was a fighter!

Three years after our first walk to Bilgolah Beach, Sandra and I met to make our way to the neighbouring beach once again. The steps a little harder to climb, the trails a little more difficult to follow, yet we made it to the little cafe shack to sit and have a talk. Sandra was one of those people that, even in the darkest of her times and the deepest of her moments, would ask how you were doing. Curious and inquisitive and open-minded until the end.

And I was nervous to share my newest status with her. Of having left my family in Canada to continue working abroad. To finish living my dream. Sandra and her family were perfect, her marriage seemed perfect as well, and if I’m being honest, I was ashamed to admit that I felt like I had failed. She listened with patience and kindness and reminded me that I was one of the bravest person she had ever met. At that moment, I wish I had told her the same.

On my little Ikea kitchen table in my little white granny flat, a card in a golden envelope is sitting in the corner of the table, propped up against a wilted Christmas poinsettia plant. The envelope bears Sandra’s name and was written shortly after Christmas. In it, I wanted to tell Sandra about all those uneventful events I shared with her in those few years that I had known her. Irrelevant compared to the memories others probably had with her who had known her for a much longer time.

I wanted to tell her how grateful I was that she welcomed me into her home and with it to Australia; showed me a small part of Australian life. I wanted to let her know how much I appreciated her belief in my dream to write, her support through difficult times like COVID and having to leave Australia and returning years later to finish what I had started, though not sure that was a good idea to go back to where I had been so happy in 2019. I wanted to thank her for not judging me, for believing in me, for calling my crazy ideas courageous. For accepting me just the way I was. For leaving me enamoured with Australia (Sandra loved big words!).

My letter never made it. Sandra died from cancer before I had a chance to give it to her. Or maybe I was just scared to give it to her and see her one last time.

At today’s celebration of life, I learned a lot about the person Sandra that I did not know before. And listening to all the friends and family remembering her in speech, poems, songs, and pictures, I learned that Cancer is a bitch! That life is beautiful! And that love is not gone – it just changes direction.

A paddle out – that is how ocean people say goodbye to their own. This is how surfers say farewell – not in funeral homes, but out here on the water, where life and death meet in the waves. Even in grief, there can be beauty.

The circle of paddlers starts breaking up. Someone points at the water. Two dolphins, swimming right beside the group. They stay for a while, keeping the paddlers company. Sandra would have liked that.