Out of the depths

“My husband died on our honeymoon,” I said in a monotone voice that didn’t sound like my own.

“Good. Give it life. Say it again but bring me more,” she instructed, as she sat in her ivory chair holding her notepad. Her chair was way too modern for this office, by the way.

“My husband died on our honeymoon because he was attacked by a shark.”

She didn’t break eye contact or even blink. Her eyes told me to keep going.

OK, I thought. This is what therapy is. You share a thing that you can’t seem to get over and you try to figure out a way to move past something so traumatic that it paralyzes you to even say it out loud, yet you can’t keep it alone in your head either because it’s too heavy.

Like your husband being killed by a shark.

Here we go. I straighten myself up a little taller for the truth that cuts me as sharp as those teeth I can still see coming right out of the water, biting down onto my husband, and pulling him under.

“My husband died on our honeymoon because he was attacked by a shark, and I watched him die. I couldn’t save him because I was too busy swimming for safety." My voice was trembling, but I continued on. "I swam away out of instinct probably, but also because I was scared, also because I knew there was nothing I could do, and he died. I swam away as fast as I could, and I still feel selfish about that. I didn’t do anything to stop it because I was terrified." 

I paused for a minute. 

"He was gone from my sight within seconds. It just doesn’t even feel real, like I’m living someone else’s story. Th...the ones you see on the Discovery Channel during Shark Week or something," I stuttered and took a breath. "The story that you can’t believe would ever happen to you, so you don’t even really feel sad about what you just watched. Except then it does happen to you and it’s the saddest, most unbelievable thing that could ever happen.”

And I’m not sure how I can ever get over this, but I keep that part to myself.

I grabbed a Kleenex out of the box sitting next to me, but honestly, we both know I’m not going to need it. I grabbed one anyway because it feels like the right thing to do. But I haven’t been able to cry since the flight home over two months ago. Apparently I’m stuck in the first stage of grief, though it kind of feels like I went through them all before I even left the tarmac in Jamaica.

Dr. Peters disagrees and says we have a lot of work to do, but we’ll get there. I wonder if she’d see the light shining through if it had been her husband. Right now, my vision is as dark as the waters far below the surface where I last saw mine.

I’ve already told her the entire story of me and Mark. Honestly, those first few visits were wonderful. I got to re-live our love story all over again, just to help her better understand me. I’ve been to therapy before, I know how this works. It’s never been for anything too traumatic.

Until now.

But I went through the motions and spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars before even getting to the reason for me being here.

Nonetheless, Dr. Peters now knows that Mark and I had an extraordinary kind of love and, God, do I love him…DID I love him…I loved him to death.

Mark was the kind of guy you don’t want. Well, the one you DO want, but you know will always capture the eyes of others so it’s better to just settle for less.

Most women know what I mean, I think. 

I’m not going to get into that. Anyway, he was beyond beautiful. His body was perfect. Like the kind you talk about getting your hands all over with your girlfriends when you’re a few glasses of wine in. He was so attractive, and he knew it, though he’d never admit it because his heart was just so kind. He was so athletic and strong, and put as much time and effort into me as he did his health. Watching him workout was like watching my favorite movie. It never got old, and every part held my attention, bringing about impulsive smiles and those feel-good feelings. And he felt good, let me point out.

I've never been great about working out, but I gave it some effort for him. I didn't love lifting weights, but I loved what those rest days brought. We’d get our Yoga mats and put them side by side in the living room. I’d light a candle; he’d take off his shirt. We’d go through an entire Yoga flow, constantly looking from our mats to each other, our eye contact saying so much, and stealing kisses when we were posed close enough. Those nights were my favorite. I can still feel him rolling over to my mat, holding his body over mine, dipping down to kiss my lips softly in between laughs.

God, I miss him.

As I already explained to Dr. Peters a few sessions ago, Mark and I had decided to get married in Jamaica, staying a week longer than our friends and family. Tahiti would have been my dream destination, but when you hope to have some family and friends in attendance, it feels better to pick an all-inclusive that's a little more affordable. Jamaica seemed perfect.

Only now I wish we would have gone to Tahiti given everything that's happened.

We tied in wedding festivities and our honeymoon after only a year of dating. We got married the first evening there and celebrated the entire week. It was more than I ever could have imagined. I was so thankful for the group that came to be with us, but I'll admit I was beaming when they left, too, only because I was looking forward to another week alone with my new husband. As it turned out, I hate that we were alone. Maybe we wouldn't have been out in the water at that time. Maybe we would have still been drinking margaritas in that Mexican restaurant we all loved.

Maybe we should have just left when everyone else left. 

I don't know.

I just know I really could have used our people there when it all happened. I couldn’t even walk once I crawled out of that water and hit the sand. I was numb. I wasn’t even in my body. I was right there with Mark being pulled under the water.

I’m still being pulled under the water every day and I’m a thousand miles from the nearest ocean.

Dr. Peters has heard the good stuff. She’s seen the highlight reel. Our entire relationship was one highlight reel, to be honest. It took us both a long time to find a love like ours. I can’t help but feel as if love like that just isn’t out there. I’m sad it’s over. And if I hear one more person tell me to be glad I found it or say some cliché quote like, “It’s better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all,” or however that goes, I don’t know where my fist might land.

Wait, did I just go into the third step of grief? Is it anger? Maybe I flew right over denial and went right to the anger stage because, yes, I’m mad. I’m mad my husband died. I’m mad because our incredible love is gone. I’m mad that I won’t hear his laugh again. I’m mad at a shark – A SHARK! I’m mad that hardly anyone can relate. I’m just so damn mad. Mostly I’m mad that Mark didn’t get more time because he really did deserve time and happiness.

I think that’s how a person knows it’s real love. When you truly just want the other person to feel happy and feel like they are enough and worth it.

And Mark was worth it. I wish I had gotten to call him my husband for more than nine days.

As I was saying, Dr. Peters has smiled through those stories already. Of course, she didn’t say much other than to listen or evaluate, but I’m assuming I came off normal during those visits as those were really my best parts. I’m not sure how she’ll receive things next, but it’s probably safe to say she’s never sat through the details of a shark attack before. That makes two of us.

“You’re quiet,” she says.

My mind easily trails off in here. They set their rooms up like that on purpose, you know. A comfortable couch, a stylish lamp with one of those light, amber-glowing Edison bulbs. Usually a plant or two, in this case, five. They’re all grouped together by a window that sits directly across from the cutest coffee shop.

I make a mental note to go grab a vanilla breve when I leave.

I smile at my therapist who feels a lot like a friend. I suppose that’s also a good thing. “I guess if I just sit here thinking about the good stuff, I don’t have to start talking about the bad stuff,” I admit.

She tells me to go at my own pace and share whatever I want to share. “There’s no right or wrong way to talk through this stuff, Amelia,” she reminds me.

I just want to re-live the week of the wedding and the two days after. Those were the best nine days of my entire life. All of us arrived at the resort on the same day, but at different times. We all wore the same bright smiles, most of us wearing bright dresses to go along with them. Mine had an open back, tying up at my neck. I can still feel the warmth of Mark’s hand there. The way we always had to be touching in some way was sickening to others, I’m sure, but we had waited our whole lives for that kind of love. We talked so openly about it all the time. That side of Mark was all mine. We would stay up for hours through the night, passing a bottle of cheap red wine back and forth, sharing bits and pieces of our stories that we had never let anyone else really be a part of.

Anyway, it’s easy to let my mind drift in here, as I said. Back to the warmth of his hand guiding me through the week.

Mark and I had invited our close family and friends to join us in paradise. The days that followed the wedding were filled with endless amounts of laughter, long walks on the beach, cold beer at the swim-up bar, bright swimsuits, summer dresses for the evenings after we had all washed the sunscreen off us and met for supper in one of the restaurants at the resort. We went four-wheeling in the jungle, snorkeling above the coral reefs, and danced on the outdoor patio that was adorned with strings of lights that swayed right above us in the gentle, ocean breeze.

Our vows were said amongst the sound of the rolling waves. “I’ll give you my absolute best for the rest of my days,” I told him.

The rest of the days were limited. Nine to be exact.

“Amelia,” she said, breaking me out of thought. “We knew today was going to bring us to Mark’s death. I know it’s hard, I do, but bring me out into the water with you guys. Let me experience this with you so I can lead you through the waves and back to safety, OK?”

Damn, this is where the money goes. It’s all for this moment and what comes next. I just hope she’s got a strong grip to pull me out of these depths.

She sees the hesitation in my eyes and the tension that shows through my body language, but she looks so empathetic and trusting that I do feel ready to finally talk about the details. I haven’t uttered them out loud other than to one woman on the rescue squad, who barely even spoke English.

“Well.” I sucked in the air heavily. “There was a lot of blood in the water.”

I hate that I started with that.

“Sorry.”

I decided to back up 20 minutes and continued on. “We were over on the side of the island where it stayed fairly shallow for almost a mile out. I remember feeling surprised that no one else was swimming over there, but it was as the sun was setting, so I suppose it was a strange time to be out there. But it was such a calm night, the weather was perfect, still so warm, and we wanted to watch the sunset from over there. Obviously, everyone thinks of sharks when they even put a toe in the ocean, but you never really expect it to happen, you know? There were no signs posted about anything, no warnings to be given by anyone, honestly the thought just never crossed our minds.”

“We waded out about ½ mile or so. It was about 7-feet deep at this point. We could easily force ourselves down to touch the sandy bottom quick. There was a huge rock underneath us at one point because Mark was standing on it, trying to make me believe it was a sunken fishing boat. Maybe it was. But I swam over to him and was so thankful for that little landing. It allowed me to get some sturdy ground for a minute and wrap my legs around his waist,” I shared.

Dr. Peters wasn’t holding her notebook anymore, I noticed. She was just present with me for this.

“It's strange how the mind remembers certain things,” I went on. “I remember in that moment I had caught a smell of his deodorant. My legs were around his waist, his arms were holding me up, the water was so still, and he smelled so good. The scent was Mandarin Woods; he always got that kind. I remember taking the smell of him in as my lips kissed his tanned shoulder. That’s what I remember mainly, or that’s what I want to remember.”

The next part happened so fast, I told her.

“Mark kind of threw me off him. It was unexpected, but I thought he was just being playful. I had gone under for just a second and came back up ready to laugh until I saw his face. He was still on that rock, but he was looking past me into the water. He had a very concerned look on his face and was scanning the water. I didn’t even have a second to react or ask what was wrong because this all just happened in matter of a second, but it’s almost like time just stood still when I saw his changed expression. I’m assuming he saw a shark fin at the exact moment he threw me off him. I have no idea. None of it makes sense. He wouldn’t throw me in the direction of a shark so I can only assume he was being playful, and everything changed in a fraction of a second. I just don’t know. Before I could even say his name, he just kind of slid off the rock and went under. There was a huge thrash. I knew immediately what it was. I caught glimpses of something big and gray in the violent water in front of me. I saw the shark’s mouth and so many teeth. I saw the red seeping around like a water-color painting.”

I wiped the first tears that have fallen in months. Dr. Peters eyebrows squeeze together, and she licks her lips, nodding silently.

“I just swam. I swam so fast and so hard, and I don’t know what I was hollering the whole time, but I remember trying to get words out as the water would gush into my mouth. I don’t know what was happening behind me because I didn’t look. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to be next, I don’t know,” I cried.

It turned out that I had just been hollering “HELP!” over and over. An older couple was walking on the beach and the woman ran to call for help. I vaguely remember the man pulling me out of the water and laying me on the sand.

Somewhere between those moments, the sun had set.

It was getting darker by the time the rescue squad came. Moments of panic, complete and utter disbelief and shock would immediately follow.

I remember all of those details, but I don’t say them. At this time, I am sobbing in the office across from the coffee shop, unable to catch my breath. I see people walking out with their to-go cups. Dr. Peters gets up from her chair and comes to sit next to me on the couch.

“Oh, Amelia, just breathe. I’m here. Breathe through this. Let it out. I’ve got you,” she said as she wrapped her arms around me.

I wonder if this is enough for today. I wonder how scared Mark felt and hope like hell he didn’t have to feel scared or feel pain for long. I hate that his life had to end and that our story is just over.

I’ll admit all of this to Dr. Peters in another session, but for today, I think it’s enough.