The Nautilus

I watched her walk along the shore, her body thin and frail,
And clenched inside her withered hand, she held a purple pail.
She trudged along, now ankle-deep, in search of shiny shells.
Her legs would tremble with each step amongst the surging swells.
Relentlessly, she wandered on, her gentle face unknowing,
That every time she added more, the rest kept overflowing.
I raced to her to lend a hand and offer some relief,
But when she turned to look at me, her eyes welled up in grief.

“What troubles you?” I asked her. “I sense you are unwell?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” was her reply. “I think I lost a shell.”
“Fear not,” I said. “We’ll find you more. I see some over there.”
“But these are not just shells,” she said. “They’re memories I hold dear.
This spindle that I’m holding now was from my senior prom,
This conch shell is my favorite; it’s when I became a mom.
This California cone is when I learned to ride a bike,
This scallop shell reminds me of that boy I used to like.”

“Those memories you shared,” I said, “seem like the very best,”
“If I were you, I’d hold them close, but what about the rest?
That clamshell there is broken and has barnacles galore.”
“Oh, that,” she said, “is when I lost my brother in the war.”
I took her hand and softly said, “Just keep the ones you want to.
Why not toss out the shattered ones so they no longer haunt you?”
“That isn’t how this works,” she said, “I do not get to choose from
The countless stories of my life. You win some, and you lose some.”

“Please come relax and sit with me,” I whispered in her ear.
She dropped beside me on the beach and then began to share
Those precious memories of her life, such stories she would tell.
Her face shone with excitement as she spoke of every shell.
White scallops for her wedding day, a cone for her first pet,
A strombus for her Venice trip, and murex for Tibet.
A triton for each holiday spent with her Mom and Dad,
And cockle for her camping trips with children Jane and Brad.

The sun went down, the air grew cold, my time to leave grew near.
I told her that I hoped to see her here again next year.
She smiled and said, “That would be nice,” then thanked me for my time
And told me to appreciate these moments in my prime.
“These days go by too quickly, dear; you blink, and years have passed,
And all that’s left are memories, and even those don’t last.”
She turned away to head back home, still clinging to her pail,
But not before she found two more, a nautilus and a snail.

The seasons changed, just like the tide; another year had passed.
I found myself back at the beach, my happy place at last.
I searched for her along the dunes and raced across the sand
To find her wading aimlessly, the pail in her hand.
The water rose above her waist, her frail hand was shaking,
As streams of memories washed away, the waves just kept on breaking.
And as I watched her search for shells, it wasn’t like before,
She didn’t place them in her pail; she tossed them on the shore.

I dashed into the waters, and I gently took her arm,
And guided her along to shore to keep her safe from harm.
She looked at me with eyes aglow, remembering my face,
And tossed her arms around me in a welcoming embrace.
“I’m glad that you could come,” she said. “I hope you like my pool.
Please help. I need to find my mom; I think I’m late for school.
I hope I’ll see my brother soon, he’s coming home, I’m sure,
He’s been away a while, but we finally won the war.”

I stood a bit perplexed at first, and then I saw her pail,
So many shells had washed away, the triton and the snail.
The scallop shells had dwindled, and the cockle wasn’t there,
And even broken mussel shells had seemed to disappear.
The sand had seeped inside the base, and many shells were buried,
I watched her as she dug around; her face grew tense and worried.
And as she found the broken clam, she looked at my forlorn,
“That’s right,” she said, “my brother’s dead,” I held her as she mourned.

Just then, a couple spotted us and raced down to her side,
“Thank God we finally found you, Mom,” the kindly lady cried.
“I’m sorry if she bothered you,” her rattled husband said,
“Her mother can’t remember; she’s got cobwebs in her head.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “This here’s my friend. My dear, is this your child?”
The frail lady laughed at me, “I’m much too young,” she smiled.
At that, her daughter grabbed her hand and guided her away,
And so I found a quiet spot to kneel down and pray.

I prayed for all those scattered shells she lost throughout the years,
With no one there to cherish all the laughter and the tears.
I prayed for all those lonely walks when she could never find,
Those far too distant memories the years had left behind.
I prayed each day I walked with her. I prayed each evening, too.
I prayed for every memory kept and everyone she knew.
And as the summer days slipped by and sadly reached their end,
I prayed that I could once again return to see my friend.

Well, summer days returned once more, and I came back to learn,
If my dear friend was on that beach awaiting my return.
I scanned along the ocean’s edge and walked beyond the pier,
My heart sunk deep into my chest to find she wasn’t there.
I walked away discouraged; things just hadn’t gone as planned,
But then I saw her purple pail just resting on the sand.
And there beside that purple pail, a younger couple sat,
And by their side, I saw my friend relaxing on the mat.

I quickly hurried up to them and peaked inside the pail,
There were no conch or spindles there, no scallop shell or snail.
No murex, clam or strombus, and no California cone,
But just a single nautilus was resting all alone.
“I’m sorry to disturb you both,” I whispered to the two,
“Could I please have a word with her? I’m someone she once knew.”
“That would be nice,” the young girl said, “but I must warn you first,
“My grandma won’t remember you; this sickness is the worst.”

“I figured that would be the case,” I stuttered in reply.
“But I’m just glad I didn’t miss the chance to say goodbye.”
I knelt beside her on the mat and gently touched her arm,
She slowly turned her head toward me; her stare was blank and calm.
But then she gently smiled, and it caught me by surprise,
I knew that she remembered me. I saw it in her eyes.
Her family was quite startled, too, “How ever could this be?”
And that is when I realized the Nautilus was me.

The next few days were restless as I walked beside the bay,
I picked up nearly every shell I found along the way.
I watched the sun go down one night, then saw it rise at dawn.
It was that very morning I got word my friend was gone.
I didn’t know her very long; I never asked her name,
But still, I felt so close to her, which hurt me all the same.
And as her family gathered in her memory on the beach
I walked up with my pail, and they asked if I could preach.

I said to them, “These seashells are the memories of her life,
White scallops for her wedding day when she became a wife.
A cockle for your camping trips, a spindle for her prom,
And conch shell for that special day when she became a Mom.
She may now walk with angels, but her memories remain,
Collected in this purple pail, they’re now yours to retain.
For if you keep them by your side, her love will always shine,
And I, as well, will hold her close; this Nautilus is mine.”

Poem by Jason T. Patnode. In loving memory of my Mom and Dziadziu, who I lost to this horrible disease.