CONTENT WARNING: death, death mention

This weekend, I saw someone die on the shore.

The asterisk: it was very likely they died on the shore. But I hope they didn’t.

I was distracted– trying not to lose the hat I borrowed– when my partner noted a crowd gathering not too far from where we were . When I saw someone laying on the sand, not moving, I stopped frolicking.

I stood there, unsure, not wanting to stare but concern grew in me. I checked it carefully for any hints of morbid curiosity. The waves crashed at my back, pushing me to return to land and I do so; the higher waves weren’t fun anymore. I look around self-consciously, and I was not the only one to leave. Maybe they thought the same that I did– that being in the water still having fun while someone was dying seemed… wrong.

I sat where the shore was dark-wet sand, a compromise between needing the comfort of nature and the Wrongness I felt if I stayed in deeper waters. Two women walked by, asking of anyone else knew CPR. I apologized for not knowing. People were taking turns. The crowd grew. This Someone still hadn’t stirred.

I focused on the sand-wave combination burying my feet.

I tried to fit the experience to my intrusive thoughts earlier in the day: don’t go too far, remember the riptides, don’t go too deep, I can’t lose you.

I thought, how would the world be like if everyone stopped what they were doing and acknowledged a life in peril or a life possibly lost. Overt, Obvious, Empathy.

I thought of that Buffy episode where she couldn’t call her deceased mom “The Body” and I also refused to call Someone “The Body” holding out for as long as I could while people were still doing CPR.

Someone started waving their arms; the medical team arrived with their direction. Minutes after, the police were on the scene as well. We decided to leave. Our beach bag was almost in the way of the med’s four-wheeler. I felt guilty, and promised I would not have been mad if they ran it over. I couldn’t help but say, “I hope they’re okay.” And there was an apology; because it was likely they really, really weren’t going to be.

But I was compelled to hope. Hope that Someone would pull through.

When we left, they were still doing CPR. I think. I saw a stretcher. I don’t remember much else.

At the back of the resort, we rinsed off our feet. Someone at the gate asked questions.

And then I hear it: “She was my friend.”

I can’t say what hasn’t been said before, already. About death, I mean. But my experience is still uniquely my own, at least through only my eyes and the thoughts attached to what I saw– my personalized reminders of our morality.

A morbid, juxtaposed footnote for a wonderful beach trip celebrating our birthdays.

It isn’t as haunting as I thought it would be. But maybe “haunting” is just too strong a word for the effect.

The day after, I checked online for any news of the incident. And two days later it did float into my mind as I was rinsing my grapes. And it is the sole subject of this post.

I suspect it will come up again, the next time I visit the beach. Or I’ll give into the urge to resume my news search.

I’m wondering if I am the “right amount” of haunted.