My mother passed of Cancer in May. I found myself lost. I felt isolated and alone, in a world that was not home. My family had moved to England after they had me, but my father moved back to Japan shortly after, due to falling into a depression brought on by a mixture of homesickness and his inability to find a job. That was thanks to his struggle with speaking English, and no one would hire him. He split with my mother upon moving back, so when she passed, I had no family left.
To honour her memory, and hope to find a sense of peace again, I decided to move back to her home town, Okinoshima, on the Oki Islands (Shimane prefecture). I found myself on a small, private hire boat just a few months later with two others plus the captain and his crew. Each person had a small room with a bed and a nightstand to themselves, but considering the size of our vessel, it seemed as if the bed would burst out of the walls of the room. I spent most of our month long journey in my assigned room, reminiscing and grieving. I loved everything about my mother. She was kind, and loving to all creatures and had an immense love for the ocean - hence why I decided to take a month long boat trip rather than a twenty-one hour plane. Little bit dramatic in hindsight, I know, but I needed a lifestyle break. My mother had always wanted a career in marine biology, but had never made her dream come true for various reasons I won’t get into. Mostly familial. Mammals were her favourite, with whales in particular. Even on her death bed she always insisted the nurses let her listen to whale calls to help her rest, but they weren’t ordinary whale calls. She once let me listen to her tape when I was little and was struggling to sleep for weeks on end after my parents divorce. The calls had something else in them: a sense of eternity, and a feeling of hope, love and loss all at once. Noises that would put you in a state of solitude, and would wake you feeling as if you had already lived a thousand lives and had just been reborn.
She put the tape in her will; stating that only her child (me), and my children were allowed to listen to the tape. After my children passed, it was to be destroyed. Wishing I had a chance to talk to her about it, I spent most of the first two weeks listening to it over, and over again. It was the only thing that could break me from my grief, even for a split second.
Until the last week on board, when we entered the East Sea. Honestly, I’m not sure what changed, but it was as if I had been splashed awake after a deep sleep. I began to spend every second watching the ocean, right up until we encountered the storm. It wasn’t a rough storm, however it was enough to knock our petite boat around, risking the safety of those onboard. We were advised to stay in our cabins, but I refused. A new feeling of peace instilled within my soul, I felt connected to the storm and embraced every drop of rain that touched my skin. With the winds battering our sails, and desperately trying to steer the ship off-course, our captain fought with all his might. Rain felt like gunshots while splashes from the sea were stronger than any man you’ve ever met. So strong that I was swept overboard.
In a frenzy of waves and desperation I clung onto anything I could, clawing at the railings on the edge of the boat while everyone else shouted, screamed, and ran over desperately, but I slipped. My grip wasn’t strong enough and I was tugged beneath the water. I tried everything I could to stay afloat, but every time I got to an arms reach of the surface another current would pull me back under. Adrenaline could only last so long though, and I quickly began to lose all strength within me, submitting to nature’s will. I panicked, feeling more fear than I ever had in my entire life, praying to Gods that I didn’t even know existed to help me out of this situation. I quickly lost hope, and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, savouring my last breath, all I saw was my mother. The last of my oxygen bubbling up around the imagine of her in her prime. Before chemo. When she was still happy. The light flickered from my eyes and all I could feel was guilt. I became one with the water. It’s endlessness and I were all we had. A void of empty nothing. Pressure consumed me on all sides and a ringing sounded throughout my ears - similar to that of a trainline. Any consciousness I had left screamed throughout my head in an attempt to burst my skull.
A school of fish darted past me, and circled back. How deep was I?
I stared around in the deep silence for what seemed like an eternity until a light emerged. Thousand of fish, both tiny and as big as a shark, and following it… a whale. A whale emanating a beautiful blue aura, surrounded by glimmering fish. They swam around me, beginning to rip small chunks out of my skin until the whale urged closer and began to sing. Almost a cry of pain, and the fish darted away. It was a call I recognised, and had grown to love. The call on my mother’s tape. As the whale grew ever so closer, and it’s figure became clear through the ominously dark waters, I noticed it’s skin was transparent, and it contained no organs. All that was visibly solid were its bones. Huge white masses, each one the size of my body. It was terrifyingly beautiful, and though I should’ve felt fear, I was filled with a sense of comfort. The whale recognised me, as I recognised it. It felt my mother’s blood within me, and fought off any aquatic creature that sought out to harm me as I lingered on my last breath. I don’t know how I survived for so long. It felt as if time slowed down, or maybe the whale helped me to hold the remaining oxygen with me. I had never been a frequent swimmer, but I knew my mother had dived without oxygen tanks for her whole life. Despite the whales docile behaviour I could tell it was not usually so calm. Gashes lined its skeleton like something from a museum. Cold turned to warmth as the dangerous, unnatural being reached within an arms length from me, and my eyes began to close. Desperately, I took in the scene for the last time, and remembered my mother - my lifeline.
And in that moment the whale changed course towards me. Its bones creaking and cracking as it crashed into me from below. With overwhelming strength, it threw me towards the surface in an effortless flick of its tail, and before I knew it, I was above the current. Waves became less murderous and I found the boat just 20 feet away.
Immediately, the crew spotted me and turned the vessel in my direction. Somehow, I floated with ease until I was heaved on board. The rest of the trip was a blur, and now I write this from my new house. One that feels more like home than England ever did, despite it’s many, many flaws. Following in my mother’s legacy I took up freediving, searching for the whale every day for 5 months until I almost gave up hope.
Last night I found her. She greeted me like an old friend.