Mom was born in NOLA, along the Mississippi. She grew up along the coast. Dad was born near the banks of the Rio Grande. The Texas coast was his retreat. He’d fish for hours, in contemplation. He shared that gift with me. Around 20 years ago, when they had returned to Houston and re-settled there, they decided to look for a beach house. They looked in Galveston (I had grown up with Saturday trips down to east beach, and visits with friends who had modest places on the west end), but it was pricey, and they were discouraged. One weekend, I went down and had them join me on a trip to Surfside Beach, where I’d been fishing and duck hunting recently. They loved it. Soon after, they found and bought a house on Bluewater Highway, 3rd row from the beach. They had it for 10 years. They spent a lot of time there, just the two of them. But also with their grandkids, who grew up with the place. And they were generous with it - countless friends and such would use it for a week with just a handoff of the keys. MaybeACoordinator would stop in some times. I recall one afternoon, as we sat in folding chairs on the beach, he was talking about Follet’s island in general and said “you know, I just think of the place as a Brisket family place.” My parents wanted to rest together. My dad missed my mom so much. We went offshore about 8.5 miles today. The wind picked up overnight, it was a bit bouncy, and not the easiest ride. And, when we got to the place, it all washed over me. It was hard getting the words out. We all had something to say. My wife - gifted as she is - had even put together a simple liturgy, which she delivered from the back of the boat as it swayed side to side. My parents’ ashes (in a biodegradable envelope meant for such use) floated for a moment, then sank to return to the sea. These were my words. I don’t think they are enough. Nothing ever will be. But they poured into and out of me one night, and there they were. The Gulf drinks earth-rich water Not from the blue-crystal rivers of poems But brown channels of life and grit and truth Mississippi Bravo Brazos Colorado. Meandering tracing of life lived in a place The paths and barriers that make us That carry us to what we will be Emptying in a jumble of everything we were, into the sea. Earth has a heart The sea’s curling waves pushed by each beat Whooshing in our ears as the first sound of our mother A rhythm from the time before time A promise that time does not end. She bears love, and life, and tempest-blown fury Our relationship status is “complicated” But always binding Salt lives in both waves and tears for a reason. Teeming with memories both fresh and fading A bowed rod at sunrise, shining speckled sides glinting at the end Joy and innocence in the sandy playground at water’s edge Walks on her winter shore, side-by-side Combing for treasures While treasure is already in hand. She is womb and grave Carrying souls to shore, where they walk for a time On sand, firm with the sea And soft from the wind Until the moon calls them to ride the falling tide back home. A lull. Another set. Life-flecked foam left on the beach, already fading Erased. Re-created. Her waves, God’s infinite loop They are in them Together They always will be. Last night, we walked along the beach. On the sea-firm sand, and its wind-blown softness. Today was harder than I thought it would be. They belong to the sea now. They belong to God. As do we all.