Our Blue Mother #PlanetOrPlastic

#PlanetorPlastic An insight of our future

At night, before I fall asleep, my mother tells me of a place called the ocean. She says that she wants me to know everything she can remember about it. So that even when she's gone, the ocean will live on.

"Blue. It was always blue. When it stormed it would become this navy color, so dark it was almost scary. When sunny, it was like a twinkling sapphire. It was never the same color blue twice, though."

"It was huge too. Much bigger than the land we live on." This is hard for me to imagine. The land we live on is massive! There is no way the ocean is real! I start to become doubtful of her story.

"Mom, aren't I getting too old for fables? This sounds just about as real as fairies."

"Oh," she whispers, and all the sadness in the world seems to be carried in that one simple word. "It was real."

She tells me stories of sea creatures. An animal called dolphins that I would've really liked.

"The ocean was always full of surprises. I'd dive down and discover some colorful fish. A nurse shark. A sand dollar. It was beautiful."

She pauses.

"Without the ocean we have less." She explains, "less food. Less space. Less beauty. The list goes on and on."

I try to imagine what life would be like with the ocean. What it was like to have something so incredible ripped away from humanity forever. I think the ocean may be our greatest loss.

The next day my mother decides to show me the ocean. It's a long drive, but we finally come to an empty parking lot. Towering above us is a chain link fence, so tall that I wonder if the birds can even fly over it. I have a feeling my mom has been here before, because she knows a spot where we can crawl underneath the fence.

My moms Bedtime Story was true. The ocean is real. Or at least, it was. What I stand before now is not worthy to be compared to the ocean. The smell alone would drive anyone away, but it's what's inside that makes it all the worse. The oily waters are filled to the brim with trash; Soda cans, straws, candy wrappers, and deflated balloons.

"Oh, mom." I cry. The sight of something that was once so beautiful turned into a wasteland is hard to take in. "Who could let such a thing happen?"

"Us." She says. "I did. Everybody did. We all knew we were hurting the ocean, but we just didn't believe that we would someday kill it."

I can't stand to look at it any longer, but my mom doesn't budge.

"The worst thing is that we could've stopped this from happening."

We stand there for a while, staring.

"I'm sorry." She tells me, face full of sorrow.

Silence.

How could I ever forgive anyone for ruining a place like this?

We could have saved it.