When they moved into their dream home, Mom built Dad his own beach ... with truckloads full of sand hauled into the backyard until ... between the St. Augustine grass and the Marsh ... there's a beach.
Billy's Beach.
William Frederick Elliott, aka Billy, was my Dad.
I'm the kid who inherited his love of Ocean ... the pungent aroma of the Marsh ... losing laundry to sit in the Sun ... spying smiling Dolphins ... Beach music ... Beers ... knowing the difference between dirt and sand.
It's difficult coming to terms with the fact Dad's been gone almost a decade now.
We had a crazy relationship as most Fathers and Sons do.
I drove him crazy and he wanted to kill me ... but our love got us through it all ... and at the end of it all ... I was the one he asks, "What do you think I should do Mike?"
"I dunno Dad," I answer, placing my hand on his knee in the dark hospital room with my brother and Mom looking on.
He stares at his hands a long time before replying. "I think I'm ready."
So he moves to Hospice and sure enough he was ready.
Last night ... somehow ... we don't know how ... Sarah, Che and I made it to Mom's house for a party she's having for our friend Bill.
All our teenage girls have different things to do so it's a logistic nightmare NASA would have a hard time solving.
But we make it.
And Che, the only grandchild my Dad never met, can't wait to get outside.
There's a party going on and I'd promised Sarah to not leave her stuck babysitting while I talked about old things from the past, so I take our almost two-year-old daughter outside.
Heading straight to the floating dock, we sit and I hold her as she splashes naked feet in the tidal creek my ol' man loved.
I have to drag her back to the yard.
"Ohh Nooo," she repeats as I force her in the right direction.
Until we hit "Billy's Beach" and she stops.
There's a Life Guard stand Mom had built because ... well it's funny ... and apparently Dad required Life Guards ... and Che runs straight to it ... climbs in a way I've never seen ... and on top ... dances, clapping her hands and laughing.
I'm not sure but I think ... I believe ... Dad met his last granddaughter.
