My name is Evelyn, and yesterday I️ died.

Not in the way I️ thought I️ would. I️ imagined a heart attack in the middle of the night, like my mother. Perhaps my body would give up the ghost after years of battling cancer. But no, the universe had other plans.

I️ can smile at the irony of it all now: blind woman, faulty railing, a tumble into the frigid waves below. It all happened so fast… like falling in a dream before you suddenly awake. Somehow, in this place, it’s a memory from far away. Dad used to say the overlook must be my “favorite view,” especially with how often I️ had him to drive me there. If my eyes had worked, I️ expect he would be right. Now I️ see the lovlier things.

He and mom felt sorry for me, I️ think. Living on the coast of Maine, but never seeing the wonder they described all around us. I️ was born with Leber Congenital Amaurosis, or LCA for short… or so they thought. For me it meant even though I️ could barely use them, my eyes looked perfect. I’ve been told they were exquisite. I️ hope that’s not vain to say. I️ couldn’t have told you one way or the other. Mom said when the sun painted hues across its stage, my irises were her dancers.

I️ wish I️ could tell them now. Although sightless, I️ saw everything; things which others seem to miss. The crashing deep across from the shore flooded what faculties I️ had to magnificent awareness. Like a lullaby and tonic all at once.

Seawater carries in its curls aromas of fresh seaweed. I’d stand on the dock or walk along the shore breathing in clean brackish air. Across the sand, foam tickled between my toes. It smelled stale, like the balmy ocean spray wilted beneath my feet. They lifted earthy fragrance to my olfactory sense; much different than the cool burn in my nostrils standing on the dock.

When it rained off in the dark expanse, I️ could almost taste the petrichor whirling in the wind. On calm days, listening past the ambiance, schools of fish traversed the pilings underneath. Most people assume you need sight to fish. It was one of my favorite pastimes when I️ was alive. All fish and crustacean smell like the ocean. When I️ was little, dad would reel them in until I️ could tell the difference in the scales. Cod or haddock feel smooth and thin. Bass are rough and thick. I️ sensed leather with the Flounder. It’s easy to get stuck by the spiny fins. Rain made them more active.

It’s difficult to explain, but do you know that distinct odor you pick up around fish markets? Certain types have more or less of it. The closer to the coast, the cleaner the smell; like pure salt. Flounder or halibut leave grounded, earthy tones on your fingers. Dad had to gut the poor things. That is, if we kept any. The scent of blood makes me dizzy… or made me dizzy, I️ suppose.

It’s strange. On this side, these joys I️ choose to hold onto. I️ choose to forget the darkness for the incandescent pictures photographed by other senses. My sorrows translated to joys. My weakness exchanged for inexhaustible strength.

I️ know, even as I️ am known.

The first sight ever beheld by these resurrected eyes was true light - glorious, eternal light.

I️ have true unhindered life, united to mom again…

and I’ve learned many things.

She told me other things which will be painful to hear, but you must know. There isn’t much time left. A nurse in Portland, Lila Jane Perry. She has worked in the NICU since two years before I️ was born.

She’s the one who did this to me.

Mom said it’s her way, fermenting and distilling purposefully contaminated concoctions to inject them into newborns. She does it through the IV. Mom knew it, but Lila got to her first.

We thought it just a heart attack.

Mom told me I️ survived by accident.

And now I️ died for a greater purpose.

We will soon find you, Lila.

You have much to answer for…

…and I️ can smell your fear from here.