~photo by Lisa Denning
I was just a few minutes from shore. The water was cloudy, as was the sky, so it was a bit like swimming in pale blue milk.
Through the near-opaque water, I saw something dark. It began to rise in the water, spiraling up towards me.
A manta ray.
The manta ray.
My friend, the manta ray who has my mother’s eyes.
I first met this manta ray several months after my mother died in these very waters. Seeing my mother in the manta helped me take a huge step towards healing from her sudden death. At that moment, I knew my mom was with me — then and forever more — gliding through my favorite bay, whispering wisdom to me from across the veil.
Today, my friend the manta had more than my mother’s eyes. She also had my mother’s propensity to dance at the slightest provocation. Wings outstretched, she is 7 ft across. Gracefully flying through the water, she came to my left side, her right wingtip mere inches from my face.
I giggled.
Trying not to move a muscle in hopes that she’d come close again, I caught the manta’s eye, and sensed that she was a bit bored with my response to her ballet.
Slowly, I uncurled my ‘wings,’ dove down, and did my hillbilly best at flying through the water like my aquatic friend. She was intrigued, it seemed, as she ramped up her own display, somersaulting backwards while moving towards me, so we met belly-to-belly for a moment.
I dove again, did a barrel roll, and came out flapping my wings. She responded by taking another few elegant passes through the water, swimming in a large circle around me.
Then she dove deep, taking her dance where I could not follow.
“Thanks for the visit, Mom,” I said quietly as I put my hands first to my chest and then out towards the manta, sending her my love, and a promise that I’d be back tomorrow.
. . .
The above story is an excerpt from my book, Reconcile.
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