I felt good in the water that day. Mom and I swam into the deep and wanted to rest. She sang me a beautiful song about the infinity of the ocean.
I loved her voice.
We swam next to each other. She would tell me “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Lupi”.
I was very young and didn’t give it much thought, but I felt good with her.
In the evening, when the dark of the depths reached the surface, we set out to take a breath.
Mom was ahead of me as I was a little behind.
Suddenly, a quiet, innocent, yet frightening sound was heard. As if something had cut through the water.
And then ... crying. A terrifying cry resounding through the entire ocean.
It was my mom crying.
I swam to her as quickly as my weak child’s body allowed me, but it was too late.
Mom was tangled in a net and swiftly being dragged away. I swam by her side. She looked at me with sad eyes and begged me to be brave. I so badly wanted to be brave, but I couldn’t.
Mom was fighting. She was brave. And I was so weak. I couldn’t help her. I watched her suffering and crying in pain.
When the sun rose above the ocean and the surface turned blue, I still saw her crying.
I pressed against her.
She kept telling me to be strong. But I was just crying.
She started to sing to calm me down.
Suddenly, there was a terrible rumble. The net began to tighten more and Mom was disappearing towards a big black spot on the surface.
The singing stopped.
I remained alone.
Dad and Grandpa Lep soon found me.
Dad no longer spoke about the necessity of letting ourselves be caught. And from that day on, his eyes were just as sad as Grandpa Lep’s.