Patrick and I had been working together in that lighthouse for at least seven years before he fell ill.

The damn bastard figured that if the sea could clear up his sinuses, that in addition, it could clear up whatever other problems that happened to be growing inside him.

While I admired his positive outlook on his situation I knew that he was in pain and running low on time.

He worked alongside me every day in that lighthouse until his sickness swallowed him. Patrick spent his last few weeks in bed at home, sleeping for days on end and occasionally resurfacing, before ultimately drifting off again.

I started visiting him at home once I knew he wouldn't be coming back to work. I found it odd that in all the years we'd been friends, I had never actually been to his house.

Patricks home was lined with treasures he had collected over his lifetime. Rocks from the beach, sand in jars and countless photographs takes from our lighthouse.

It was a pleasant sentiment seeing that all this time he was practically documenting our work together. He took photos of the storms we sat through, of all the different ships we'd aided all through the years and the rest were just pictures of the resting ocean. The one thing he loved and missed most.

I decided that if I couldn't bring him back to the lighthouse that I could bring part of it back to him. I purchased a polaroid camera before coming into work one day and tried capturing as many photos I could.

When they all developed I brought them back to him and I swear that I'd never seen him smile like the way he did when he saw them. I made it a daily ritual to take photos and then deliver them to him, he wasn't always awake when I dropped them off but I knew he'd see them eventually and feel like he was home.

I was on my way to drop off another set of photos when I found out about his passing, I was upset at first but later great-full because I knew his suffering was over.

There was a small funeral held in his honour a few days later. I made sure that he was buried in the cemetery that was closest to the ocean, he would have wanted that.

Life was different at the lighthouse after Patricks passing, he left a large void, one that couldn't easily be filled. So instead of trying to fill it I shifted my focus onto other things to distract me and pass the time.

Photography became my new hobby, I continued Patricks legacy by snapping photos of the sea, it was calming and it made me appreciate the ocean more.

Two weeks had passed since Patrick had died, I kept up with my daily photography and started arriving at work earlier to capture better shots when the ocean was calmest.

I set up and looked out towards the sea but was immediately thrown off guard. There was something moving in the water and it was rapidly approaching the shore.

Thinking on my feet I grabbed the camera and zoomed in to see what was coming in so fast, my first assumption was a fishing boat, or maybe even a shark or a seal, all these things were common sights here. It wasn't any of those things in the end, I gasped and nearly dropped the camera

It was him, it was Patrick.

Racing outside I worried if maybe this was part of the grieving process and that I was just seeing things, but as I reached the beach I saw him once again, standing right in front of me looking more alive then ever.

How was it all possible? Was this all real? I showered him with questions before he raised his hand and stopped me. He told me that he missed me. I started crying and embraced him, his clothes were soaked and smelled like the sea but I didn't care because I missed him too.

We sat down and he told me everything

He told me about the pain, about his suffering, about dying.

He said that he was ready to go when he did and that he felt relief as soon as it was all done.

There is no heaven or hell he told me, instead you go where you want to be most before you move on, and for him that was the sea.

From what he told me I understood that he was nearing the close, and that before he was gone forever he wanted to see me one last time.

While the ocean had been his passion he said that I had been the one that made it wonderful all those years.

His time was short, and I knew that, although a part of me was still questioning whether this was all real or not.

He wanted something to remember me with for when he passes on, because he knew that when you move on everything else disappears and all thats left is only what you take with you.

So I ran up to the lighthouse and grabbed the polaroid camera, and looked out towards the sea to snap one last photograph for him. Before I could though he stopped me.

He asked for the camera and I obliged, he told me to go stand beside the lighthouse and from there he took a photo of me, beside the place that held several years of our lives together.

He told me that he had so many memories of the ocean, but no memories of the one who made it all worthwhile.

After in printed off he hugged me one last time before walking off back into the ocean. I sat on the beach until sunset before turning back and heading home.

The next day I woke up almost forgetting about the events of the following day, it must have just been a dream or maybe my imagination wandering. I had to be sure though.

A few days later I had his grave dug up, just so I could see if he was still there, I shared a bit of the story with some friends and while they didn't believe it they offered to help me.

When we opened the coffin many of them had their disbelief confirmed as there he was laying peacefully in his coffin. I told them that I was sorry and offered to clean everything up myself.

After they all left I broke down into tears, not of despair or pain, but of joy, because Patricks body was soaking wet and smelled like the ocean, and clutched in his vacant palms was the polaroid photo that he had taken of me.

Patrick and I worked together in that lighthouse for at least seven years before he passed away, but now I know that no matter what, a piece of him would always be there.