The air smelled sweet. The growing heat and humidity seem to draw it out of the trees, the flowers, and the healing plants. Near either ocean the salty air often overpowers those aromas but as you move inland, they take over again. When we’re on the darker beaches of the Atlantic, or the whitest ones along the gulf, the sand feels the same. The finest sand is on Caladesi Island where we spent an afternoon once searching for shark teeth. They’re usually black, triangular in shape, and scattered like shells and pebbles. We also wandered the soft sandy trails through the thick mangrove. Some of the trails weaved like a maze and ended abruptly at the water’s edge. Others circled back and opened onto the broad gentle beach where waves lapped quietly, turning the bright white sand to cream and back again, infinitely, over and over.
Four of us searched for shark teeth, while my mother-in-law sat on her walker positioned towards the back of the beach in the shade of the trees. She wore sunglasses, a straw hat, and a floral-patterned outfit with colors that reflected the tropical place we were in. She watched us sift and search the sand, seaweed, and the under driftwood where a lot of things collect. She tracked our progress, looked for herons and egrets, listened for doves, and kept the snacks and water out of the sun in her big canvas bag. Whenever one of us found a tooth, we yelled out and if we were close to her, dropped them off so she could examine and hold them. It was a treasure hunt for ancient teeth that were shed in the sea thousands, even millions of years ago.
Further south near Clearwater, we watched manatees float and spin slowly only three feet below us in the spring fed pool. We were in kayaks, and my mother-in-law was in the front of one of them while my brother-in-law paddled. Manatees are big, friendly and vegetarian, so the experts say they aren’t a threat. We watched them disappear and reappear for a while because they were the same green and gray color as the water they swam in.
My mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly last spring. She was only a couple of months from moving here. My wife had found a great place for her to live. We thought she’d like it and it was only two miles away—close enough to join her for last minute dinners and any late-night concerns she might have. I imagined winter errands with her while she was wrapped in a huge down coat, a hat my wife would have knitted using her favorite colors, and extra warm mittens to shield her from even a hint of cold. Her service was in the cemetery next to where my father-in-law is buried. There was one large tent that shaded almost everyone from the sun, large trees surrounding us and directly in our view was a small mausoleum for someone else’s family. Her eulogy was read in English and Korean. My bother-in-law spoke, our daughter spoke, and a friend of hers played two songs on his guitar. It was a simple service because that’s what she wanted.
I don’t think she imagined the constant singing of birds. They were gentle, constant, and consuming. One particular bird landed on the mausoleum in plain view, sang for a minute or two, and flew away. It returned to the same exact spot three minutes later and sang in the exact same way, then flew away, and returned again and again. It’s appearance and reappearance felt like it was meant for us, signaling something we couldn’t understand, maybe reminding us of when she could sing and fly once too.
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“Body like a feather.” Ham-Hi talking about a dancer during her last birthday dinner.
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For Ham-Hi
Songs :: Take My Hand, Precious Lord by Mahalia Jackson, Maiden Voyage by Robert Glasper Trio, Caoineadh Cú Chulainn (Lament) by Bill Whelan and Neil Martin, The Dreamer by Immanuel Wilkins, and Embryonic Journey by Jefferson Airplane
© C. Davidson