I traveled to this small town by the sea more times than I could count in the last two decades. It was my grandfather’s home, and it required traversing a mountain pass, navigating a city and setting sail on a ferry just to get there. But in this place between the Olympic Mountains and the Straight of Juan de Fuca he was at home, and he loved it.

My last trip to Sequim, WA was quite different. This time, Gramps came with us in a small plastic box as we traveled out to sea. With few words and a swirl of milky-white water, our family carried out his final wishes on a cloudless, perfect day.

It takes more time to grieve a loss than I imagined after his quiet death, no matter how expected or relieving that death may be. But this little town will always be there to remind me of the life he lived, how much he mattered to me and what we shared in spirit. And so I wrote:

Sequim By the Sea

A gentle breeze

A silent rocking

That thin strip of land that

juts out to sea.

It was here he made his home,

where mountains meet water

and rain turns to sunshine.

The light is cast in lavender

and time makes its way

slowly down the horizon

to the rhythm of the ticking clock.

The place that knew him best,

and now a place to rest.