The Sand Dollar

I arrived in Florida on that January day, in an airplane full of cold Minnesotans. You could feel the air of excited anticipation throughout the airplane.

Having landed in Florida numerous times before, and here for more solemn reasons, this time, than most on the plane, I didn’t share in the joy but I enjoyed watching these anxious travelers shedding their sweatshirts for t-shirts as the plane descended.

It seemed as if they had no concern that there was likely to be even worse weather upon their return. There were no noticeable warm jackets, but they didn’t seem to care. Like most Minnesotans I suppose, they would worry about that when they had to, no sooner.

As the state of Minnesota is widely thought of as slightly north of Siberia, to many who have not been there, and to many who have.

Winter coats, mittens, boots tucked safely away and now in the past. A vacation in the future and worries of cold already forgotten. Everyone showing smiles full of anticipation of the warmer weather that they would soon encounter. Anticipation and joy plainly seen on each face as they jumped up excitedly to exit the airplane.

The woman next to me turned toward me and asked with a friendly smile, if I was in Florida for a vacation. I responded “No, I’m here for my brother’s funeral.” She said “Oh” in awkward hesitation. “That’s sad.” Her smile quickly disappearing into a frown as she quickly looked away, respectfully and undoubtably sorry. She left me to my thoughts.

I had arrived a few days before everyone else and had booked a room on the beach, knowing I needed to get my head around saying the final goodbye to my brother. I needed this time to prepare as I had the eulogy written, but I could not read it without bursting into uncontrolled sobbing. I had hoped this time, these few days in Florida, would help me to get my bearings, my strength.

I don’t remember caring that the woman on the plane looked away, or how difficult car rental process had been, as I drove, quite some time later, in solemn silence across the long Tampa Bay causeway to the gulf beaches of Clearwater, Florida.

The Florida sun did not disappoint, shining brightly on the buildings that filled my memories.

I recalled a restaurant where I shared dinner with my brother, Joe, as I drove by the all too familiar buildings.

We always enjoyed our time together and would inevitably laugh the night away. It was as if we were always on an adventure. This new band or that road trip, a festival. My mind highlighted memories of our light-hearted days together.

I passed by the many places we had stopped for a drink, for breakfast or lunch over the years, they seemed to line the way and led me to my thoughts about my destination.

The beach, were we went together so many times, sharing a cabana or sitting at a beach bar for many hours and long days of sunshine, laughter and sharing of our thoughts and dreams.

Every building I passed, the beach we shared was so full of memories, happier times. My feelings that the few days on the beach would help me feel better, now dashed.

I couldn’t feel more heartbroken.

My sense of loss deepening with every special memory, I knew I would need these extra days to accept with grace, what I needed to do, the final goodbye that lay ahead of me in just a few days.

I walked along the beach that afternoon, praying, feeling growing anxiety over the way my brother died. He died without me or other siblings at his side, our parents long gone and no family of his own.

He had suffered from heart disease. We had been estranged in recent times, not because of the heart disease but due to more complicated issues, ending in disagreement and sorrow.

We had tried to help and had funded the efforts to help for many years, only ending in disappointment. So, estrangement at the time of his death adding to the heartbreak and tugging at our hearts, our minds, and our grief.

Even more so now, knowing that he died and either did not or could not reach out when there were so many words unspoken.

Grief stricken, I prayed as I walked. I prayed for a sign.

I wasn’t sure what kind of sign, but a sign of some kind, a sand dollar?

Some people think that sand dollars are messages or gifts from the sea.

A sign that my brother is okay, that he is with God and that our relationship, while separated was not broken. Guilt and anguish enveloped me as I walked. I loved him so, and the thought of living without him in my life was too much to think about. The thought that we were not ok at the time of his death, made it a thousand times worse.

I wrote my brother’s eulogy; “We allow two minutes for a eulogy.” they said at the church. Two minutes. Ridiculous! I responded that I would need at least three minutes. I really needed ten. They granted an extra thirty seconds to me to describe my lifetime of acknowledgement of my dearest brother and friend. I agreed to the two and one-half minutes and then, I took five.

I walked on the beach with my daughters once they arrived, and we all looked for that sign together, that sand dollar, or a sign of some kind that my closest brother, their closest Uncle, was okay. My daughters made me feel better. They were supportive, knowing, loving. Few words were said. We didn’t need to as we all felt the same loss.

Their beautiful quiet strength carried me.

The funeral was respectable and nice, full of meaning and his good friends came. The people in attendance were those that were close to him and I could tell that they loved him as much as I did.

Afterward, we continued our search for that sign on nearby islands, away from the mainland shore, amidst miles of sand and seashells, while boating with a nephew who lives nearby, but no sign was found.

After several more days in Florida which included a trip to Key West, dinners with family and more walks on the beach, my last day in Florida came.

Family members now back at home, I went to the beach alone that day, and walked for miles on the sandy shore, that last day in Florida. I found myself kicking over sand dollar bits but found no whole sand dollar.

I had asked for signs from God before in my life. I have not ever received a direct answer. Why would this time be any different. I had felt despair before with no sign from God. I had to realize it was not possible. I know God hears and I know he answers. He would not ever answer a prayer directly I thought. One reads about miracles, but that wouldn’t happen to an ordinary person like me. My spirit and my heart began to sink further, as I realized my hope of feeling better soon was wishful thinking, at best.

While sand dollars can be found in many gift shops, finding an unbroken sand dollar on a public beach can be unusual and is considered a special find.

I began to pray for any kind of sign, as the grief and anguish was overwhelming and affecting my ability to function without a heavy heart. I prayed and walked as the day grew old.

At days end, I sat on the cabana chair I had claimed as mine for the day hours earlier, and looked at the water. A dolphin swam by. I smiled and wondered, was that my sign? Even though it was special and very nice to see, it was not enough to lift my spirits.

Now resigned to the fact that I would go home and likely seek grief counseling. I would need help, with no sign or relief from my grief, counseling would be needed. Grief felt like it was choking me. I began to get up as the sun was about to set. I looked at the empty chair next to me and my jaw dropped.

On it, there was a sand dollar!

Just sitting there, after looking for weeks, with family and by myself, praying the whole time and finding nothing, someone had put it there, on the chair next to me, for me.

I felt immediate shock and a warm sense of healing, relief. I had a feeling of a dark veil lifting off of me and sunlight beaming through. All of a sudden, the sun felt warmer, brighter, smiling down on me.

My brother is ok.

Not only is he ok but he still cares, in that special brother sort of way, enough to send me a sign, and setting it right next to me, as if he were still joking with me. Our relationship still full of love and intact.

I couldn’t help but wonder, was his spirit there in the empty chair next to me?

Was the sand dollar not given to me, but forgotten by a passerby?

Was it a gift from God?

There are not words to describe how close to God I felt at that moment.

The mystery of how the sand dollar appeared on the chair is as much of a blessing as the sign that came with it.

It was the sign I had been looking for.

Knowing that my brother is okay, and loves me still, I now can be okay.

All because of one sand dollar.

I also know I have to share this story.

If you know this kind of pain, pray and look for your sign.

The next time you find a sand dollar, it may just be your divine message.