Our Own Private Ceremony

Every time I look at the ocean I am reminded of Mom. Standing on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, the ocean is divine in its beauty. It is the very essence of life for many creatures. The waves lapping the shore and even crashing into it can lull one into a serene sleep from far enough away.

But to be in the water is another story entirely. It can be refreshing - warm and soothing or cool and thrilling. But there is no mistaking the power of the currents, the tides, of rogue waves...to say nothing of her in a storm or a hurricane. And chances are pretty good I'd catch her in all her glory, secure in all her vitality. Still, somewhere way back behind my laughter as I turned my back on the glistening water, I would remember the last storm and how she looked then. Terrible.

And no one would know that my laughter was cut just a little bit short, and that I pursed my lips together just a little bit more than needed while I folded the towel, and that the frown I wore wasn't just to protect my eyes from the sun, for just a moment.

Still, I am drawn to her. I get peace like little else from sitting on her shores, meditating on her waves. How I do love her.
I'm like the tide, myself. I retreat, recede. Then move closer, come in. I can't stay out or away for long. Part of me is always washing up and in just as some of me mixes with the sand and whirls it around, back out and on.

So, it seemed fitting to release the three pearls into the bay.

The sun was setting. We were at the State Park in Galveston where we had spent many days as a family. Pink and orange lit up the horizon between Texas and Mexico. My dad had gotten that pearl necklace, matching earrings, and cocktail ring for mom, had brought it all the way from Vietnam when he was so distraught and when there was no money. They were 20 and 23. They had already lived through a tour of duty, the birth of their first child, and uprooting their small town Texas lives to live worlds apart in Alaska and Vietnam.

For some reason, pearls are always depicted as feminine. I guess it's because they use their own bodies to create and protect that beautiful little gem. So, I took three pearls from the ones Dad had given Mom. One for her first child, one for her second, and one for her grandchild. I simply walked up to the gentle and warm receding tide, and returned what the ocean had freely given to us.