When frantic messages of my mother‘s car accident buzzed from my phone, I thought I was dreaming. Confirmed pictures and calls with my dad tore my spirit in two and shredded the remains. How could this happen? I tried to make sense of it all, but that would not change the fact that my mother was in the ICU with a broken collarbone, broken ribs, and internal intestinal bleeding. She would need several immediate surgeries before she could wake.

My mother, a small, sweet woman who prides herself on her perfect attendance at work, felt the metal frame of her familiar car nearly crush her on her way to work on Monday. My mother, who loves Vietnamese soap operas, mangos, singing karaoke, tending to her garden, fretting over her children, and doting on our dog, was now lying motionless on a hospital bed with tubes and machines sticking out from her sides. My mother, who just celebrated her 64th birthday a few days prior, was now at the epicenter of my entire family’s concerns and worries. My sisters, brother, and father rushed to her side, and I remained several thousand miles away. Guilt gnawed at me as I hungrily waited for any crumb of information that trickled into our family group chat.

Feeling helpless, I ran along Playa Cocles in the hopes that each burning step would exorcise the ache in my heart. When I approached the end of the beach and could run no further, I stumbled to a stop with my back to the jungle. I began sobbing. My shoulders heaved with cries as I recalled the last phone call with my mother four days prior when we last said “I love you” to one another. There was no one around me who could witness my anguish. The beach was nearly empty of swimmers and surfers who took the red flags posted along the beachfront as fair warning signs against the swollen strength of the ocean. With no one to watch me, I screamed at the waves. At first my screams were more nonsensical sobs, but soon they became the same words over and over. Will she be okay? Will she be okay? Will she be okay?

I felt how big, how immensely and confoundedly big, the ocean was. Her many faces broke against the shore in foamy, inscrutable expressions, which only frustrated me more. I threw upon her the responsibility of my mother’s accident, of all the indiscriminate pain suffered by everyone on earth ever. It wasn’t fair, but I didn’t care. The potentiality of loss made me unreasonable and savage, and I savored the rage that was preferable to my grief.

The foamy water lapped at my feet, assuaging some of my anger. I found my breath again and slowly opened my eyes, which were blurry and stung with tears. Walls of water formed long tunnels along the coast before curling and crashing back into itself. I watched the ocean for some time and thought about jogging back to my bike again when I heard soft panting behind me. Two dogs emerged from the river coursing from the jungle into the ocean. Their heads peeked happily from the river revealing more of their bodies as they made it on shore. One threw himself on the ground and began wriggling his body on the sand to scratch his back. The other sniffed closer to me and stood by my side. I couldn’t help but laugh and wonder about what this all meant, these dogs appearing from nowhere now asking to be pet. I scratched both of their soft heads and began my walk back towards the other end of the beach where tanned bodies peppered the yellow sand. I was heady with emotion and almost did not notice the dogs walking beside me when their faces occasionally ran into my calf. Halfway down the beach, a third dog pawing at the sand joined our pack. Now with three dogs accompanying my walk, I had my answer. Nature always found a way to respond, even when being unfairly accused by a lone, sobbing figure on the shore. I smiled knowing that whatever came after my mom’s multiple surgeries, she would recover and my family would be alright. Together we would face the complications that followed and would make the best of the situation.

The next day, my brother told me my mom was out of surgery and stable. She would be fitted for a back brace the following morning. Two days after that, I received a video from my dad of my mom being walked around the hospital floor with the aid of two nurses and my sister. When I watched her sway from side-to-side on her walker, then turn around to look at the camera, I cried again, this time with pure elation and joy.