Can you hear me, Mama? It's me, your baby.

It was just three months ago, Mama. My eleventh birthday. We went to the beach in Half Moon Bay and walked along the coast, hand-in-hand, like we did on all of my birthdays. It was three o'clock. The sun beat down on the back of my neck. We went into the shallowest end of the ocean, ten meters in, and watched our feet sink into the muddy soil. The lifeguard blew his whistle six times, signaling that rip tides were present. I didn't pay attention. You tugged my shoulder and started to turn back to shore, but I was stubborn. That's when the tied pulled me under.

It was dark, Mama, and really cold, and when I tried to breathe I just couldn’t. I heard your screams above the water, on the tip of the shore, and I saw your fingers clutching the surface of the tide, straining to reach me, but I just couldn’t grab on. I was too heavy.

I miss you, Mama. So so much. Why couldn’t that lifeguard just squeeze me out like a sponge, no, when they took me out I was already gone. I saw my body leave the water, and I didn’t want them to take it away, to separate me from it, but I wanted you to have it too. So I let it go.

I was four years old when I had my first swimming lesson at the Four Seasons Resort in Aviara, California; I didn't want to put my face in the water. I sat on the steps entering the pool in my ruffled floral bikini and oversized goggles-it was a gorgeous June day- and I had a pretend tea party sitting on the steps into the shallow end of the pool with my burly, macho instructor, Dexter. He taught me how to get in and out of the pool using my forearms to push me up. He never mentioned rip currents, but why would he, there was no current in that pool. Then he told me if I went under the water I would hear music. I held my breath and submerged. Once more, I told myself, only once, and then twice, or maybe just three times, piecing together fragments of "Let It Be."

I think everyone should let the world be as it is, Mama. Sometimes I rise far up above the water, and look over the crowds of people in warzones, and wonder why we cannot all be happy. I fear for the lives of the civilians in Tokyo. Their culture, their vibrant city, soon to be destroyed by a nuclear weapon. Why do we need to justify our well-being by jeopardizing the safety of others? The Japanese may live 10,000 miles away from us, but they are still humans, still living, breathing creatures just trying to make their way and enjoy their existence. Don't you see? They are us.

Heaven is everywhere, Mama. All around us. You can see heaven, but you can't see us. I can fly. I've always wanted to fly. You remember that time I jumped off the bed to see if I could fly and nearly sprained my ankle. We laughed so hard when we told that story to our friends. Or I choose to float, to let the water embrace me. I'm a water angel. I've drifted all the way to the South Pacific, where they based that musical with the song you used to whistle "Some Enchanted Evening." Heaven is beautiful, Mama. It is so alive, bursting with energy. I haven't gone one day without seeing a couple in love, or children eating ice cream, or animals playing. Sometimes I see parents reunited with their children; that's the best. There's a lot of crying and hugging and laughing. Everyone is free to be who they are here. I think we can all learn how to live from those in heaven.

The stars are dazzling tonight, Mama. Their emotions are vivid: they sparkle with anger, lust, unbelievable jealousy. And yet they are at peace. The winds and the rainfall have not mitigated their intensity. The stars are above all that, above the horrors of humanity and the cleansing of the rain. They never sleep. I saw one running away from its family. A little girl near me on the island made a wish. I knew that the brilliance of that little star would not fade.

Eighth grade graduation. The day that, to my middle school self, marked the end of my childhood. I was in denial for months before I stood at the head of the aisle, linked arms with the classmate whose name was also Collins, and processed, holding my head up and ignoring the waves of change and applause that stood all around me, that the day would ever arrive. I wanted to be a kid forever. It was like my eighth birthday when I cried every five minutes over being so old. And yet, had I not gone through it, I never would have gotten to see Shakira perform live. Totally worth it.

And Mama, think how happy I was on the day Kate and William got married! The wedding of Kate Middleton and Prince William was the epitome of perfection, beauty, pressure and unity, all wrapped up into one kiss on the balcony. It was a kiss that the world had been waiting for, the kiss that was truly the antithesis of romance for the couple but renders their love tangible for the rest of us peasants. I got up early that morning, five o'clock to be precise, to see the kiss live (and of course read about it in People magazine the next day). And I am not ashamed to say that I melted on my couch into a puddle of "I want a freakin' prince!" Don't worry Mama, one day I'll find my prince.

It's drizzling, Mama. The sand changes color from buttercup to a darker, dirtier yellow. The sky metamorphosizes. No longer a piercing blue, it settles into a frosty pink and metallic violet. A breeze chills my soul, resting under the waves. The water is turquoise, like a gem, with gentle, cradling waves. The seaweed rocks to a rhythm of a Senegalese drum circle and the shells, golden and shiny, clap to the beat. My favorite shells are ruby-red. Ruby is my birthstone after all.

I make brief small talk with the Moon, we often have wonderful conversations about the meaning of life, Mama. The moon loves to discuss philosophy: he spends his days pondering the meaning of existence, reality, and logic. We have come to the unfortunate conclusion that there is very little logic in this world; your reality is so different from ours. If I know I exist, why can you not see me? I can see you. I wish you could see me.

The rush of cold lifts my spirit. It really is the only way to enjoy life, Mama, spending your days here. I miss you, but I love it here. I often wonder what it would be like to for you to leave your work, your family, and your material possessions behind- what do they give you?- and live on the beach, making a house out of the glittering shells that emerge from the waves at low tide with me by your side. The sea would take you in, just like it took me in. The sound of the waves lulls me to sleep; my eyelids grow heavy. I finally understand why it's called a sand bed.

Don't forget me, Mama, but don't spend your days crying over me. There is no one to blame. I know we will be reunited one day, but hopefully not too soon. I am happy. I want you to have a glorious life and be happy too.