And the ocean roared.

18 years ago today, newly raw from saying good-bye to a beloved sister, I arrived in a town along the bluffs of the Mississippi. Me, a Uhaul full of books, one dog, one cat and some family to help me unload. When they left, I stepped out onto the tiny front porch of the rental house, praying that here I could find my mending way.

I have never regretted that move. 

I found HOME.

I have braced myself on the rocks as Newfoundland's winds battered at me, so I could hear the ocean roar.
I have sought shells along the southern Pacific coast, pausing mid-reach to hear the ocean roar.
I have rocked on the veranda on a Central Mexican villa, putting the final stitches into her daughter's wedding quilt, stiching in time to the ocean's roar.
I have methodically laid-out cities of sand, turning away from my childhood work to hear the ocean roar.
I held tightly to my sun hat in the welcomed Gulf breeze as her son and his bride poured sand from two vessels into one, exchanging vows to the backdrop of the ocean's roar.
I lumbered up step after endless step to the top of a lighthouse seeking the crack o'dawn and hear the ocean's roar.
I have gasped at the ermergence of a Bottlenose Whale along the Labrador peninsula while the ocean roared.
I played UNO late in the night with Dad, getting up to open the balcony door so we could hear the ocean roar. 
I have held my sister's hand, turning my face to the sea spray to mask my tears - being brave as she felt the sand one last time beneath her feet. And the ocean roared.

I love the ocean. I seek it out as often as I can. When I am in pain, in joy, in love...to breathe and hear the ocean roar.

What I hate is Florida.

Ironic that I am here now. Today. June 12.

Mosquitoes.
Humidity.
Heat.
Memories.
... seeping out of tightly wrapped boxes hidden deep inside standing on the shore missing her hand in mine as I hear the ocean roar.