I miss my neighborhood in Santa Barbara, California. For 18 months, I called West Beach my home. The apartment was more than a place to live; it felt more like a sanctuary.
After a few years of personal turmoil, I moved there, chasing my dream of living by the beach. I fulfilled that dream by living a block away from the ocean. In my pristine apartment, I nurtured myself through writing and photography. I spent countless hours walking along the beach and was often swept away by the beauty surrounding me.
I loved the beach life and flourished in many ways. I could have stayed there forever. But one day, I needed to pack up and leave. I followed my intuition and moved back to San Francisco. There was no rhyme or reason for the move other than a voice directing me to “go home.” When you trust your intuition, it is not until later that things become clear.
Within the first couple of months of being home, my Dad suffered a heart attack. This would be one of three heart attacks he would have. The cardiologist diagnosed him with Congestive Heart Failure. He told us that my Dad may live “between six months and a year and a half.”
Today marks the third anniversary of my Dad’s passing.
I miss him.
I can’t go back in time but I’m grateful for having had the opportunity to be with him as he spoke his final words to me. In that moment, he had light in his eyes and a smile on his face. That is how he will live on in my memories.
West Beach, at Sunset. Photo taken in February 2011.