As a child, the ads mesmerized: all smiling faces, pink-white sands, steel-drum music, and that vivid turquoise water. The Bahamas seemed like an exclusive haven for the luckiest people. I was not so lucky. My mom had cancer.
The Bahamas – even the name seemed exotic, a warm embrace of “ahs.”
Ba, as in “bath” – warm, comforting.
Ha – like laughter.
And, of course, Ma – mom.
Dad finally took me there the Summer after mom died. We went snorkeling.
I hovered with the sun on my back above a phosphorescent universe, blissful and sad – the warm salty water indistinguishable from my tears.