All I knew was that my little girl had asked for one small piece of the world.
And I would find a way to give it to her.
***
That night, after Sophie fell asleep, I started looking at travel costs.
“Stop worrying about the money.”
Dad sat beside me. “I’ll help you pay for it. Even if it’s only for a few days, take her to see the ocean.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I started looking at travel costs.
“Dad, I can’t—”
“You can. She deserves that memory,” he said quietly. “Promise me you’ll go.”
“I promise.”
He smiled and patted my shoulder.
If only I’d known then why Dad offered to pay for the trip so readily.
***
The phone call came a few days later.
“She deserves that memory,”
I was sitting at Sophie’s bedside.
When I answered the call, Dad’s neighbor’s voice broke through the receiver.
“Honey, you need to sit down. Your father collapsed in the garden.”
Numbness spread through my body.
“Is he… please tell me he’s okay.”
“The paramedics tried. They tried everything. I’m so sorry.”
“Is he… please tell me he’s okay.”
I don’t remember hanging up.
Sophie leaned over to tap my shoulder.
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
I looked at her, and I saw my father reading Moana to her.
I saw them watching YouTube videos about the ocean together.
And now I had to tell her that he was gone.
I looked at her, and I saw my father
Sophie didn’t cry at first.
She sat there, holding her bunny tight.
Then she took my hand.
“It’s okay, Mommy. Grandpa went to heaven. I’m also going to heaven, and I’ll tell him how much we love him when I see him again.”
I forced myself to smile for her.
Then I went out into the hallway and broke.
“It’s okay, Mommy.”
***
That night, I went home and sat at the kitchen table in the dark.
I stared at the envelope Dad had pressed into my hands a few days earlier.
Inside was cash he had been saving for months, maybe years.
A yellow sticky note was attached in his shaky handwriting.
For the ocean. Don’t argue with me.
“I’ll keep my promise,” I whispered to the night. “For both of you.”
For the ocean. Don’t argue with me.
I called the doctor’s office the next morning.
I asked if they could allow Sophie to travel for a few days.
“At this stage of her treatment—” the doctor asked gently.
“Please,” I cut him off. “My father just died. He paid for this trip so Sophie could see the sea. It’s all she wants before she… We have to go.”
There was a long pause on the line.
I called the doctor’s office the next morning.
“I understand. I’ll clear her for the flight. But please, keep her medications close and rest as much as you can.”
I hung up and let myself cry.
Then I finished planning Dad’s funeral.
***
Two days after laying my father to rest, Sophie and I boarded a plane.
Sophie pressed her nose to the window and gasped every time the clouds parted.
Sophie and I boarded a plane.
I stared at nothing.
My heart was raw, and it took all my strength to hold myself together for Sophie.
She was all I had now.
I didn’t want to ruin her trip to the ocean with my grief.
***
We landed at midday.
The salt air hit us the moment the doors opened.
I didn’t want to ruin her trip to the ocean with my grief.
Sophie squealed and tugged at my sleeve.
“Mommy, I can SMELL it! I can smell the ocean! Grandpa was right!”
“I know, baby. I know.”
The taxi ride to the hotel was a blur of palm trees and blue sky.
I kept reaching for my phone to call my father, to tell him we made it.
Then I’d remember all over again that he was gone.
I kept reaching for my phone
At the hotel check-in, the woman behind the counter smiled at Sophie.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?”
“I’m Sophie. I came to see the ocean.”
“Well, Miss Sophie, we’ve been expecting you.”
Something about the way she said it made me pause.
But I was too exhausted to ask.
She handed me the room key and gestured toward the elevator.
“Well, Miss Sophie, we’ve been expecting you.”
That afternoon, I took Sophie down to the shore.
She stopped at the edge of the boardwalk, staring at the vast blue horizon.
“Mommy,” she whispered. “It’s bigger than in the books, and more beautiful than the videos.”
“It really is.”
I watched her splash in the shallows and laugh in a way I hadn’t heard in almost a year.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a message from her oncologist’s office.
I took Sophie down to the shore.
I stared at the screen.
I had to read it three times before my brain processed it.
Sophie’s latest labs came back this morning. The disease is progressing faster than expected. Please contact me as soon as you return.
I watched Sophie chase a wave and felt the sand shift under my feet.
My father was gone.
My daughter was dying.
And I would soon be all alone in this world.
I had to read it three times before my brain processed it.
