I awake to the smell of pancakes, maple syrup, and tropical air as my dad lightly taps my shoulder, an indication that I need to get out of bed. My sunburnt skin peels from my white sheets as I rub my swollen eyes and make my way to the dining room table. I am greeted by my two sisters, who are also still in their pjs, and my parents who both are already on their third cup of Jamaican coffee. Everyone is silent, the only sounds are the ones of our forks against our plates, small sips of coffee and the faint crunches of food being chewed. We knew what the plans were for today but no one wanted to address the situation, in fear of my father's grief.

My family and I had always vacationed in Silver Sands, Jamaica for Christmas for as long as I could remember. I would see pictures of myself there, before my first birthday, my hair scattered in patches but still wildly curly, and I would ponder the significance of this place. It was not until my 5th birthday that my father had explained to me why we kept going back every year. He told me about how this was his mother's favorite place in the whole entire world. She loved how the crystal clear blue water and the scorching sun on her face made her heart warm. She wanted to share this beloved place with her children and hoped at some point their families. My dad had been going to Silver Sands since he could walk. Once he had his own family, and his brother and sister did too, they all came back to this place every Christmas with their mother and share her favorite adventure. He explained this was why we came back every year because over the years, it too became his favorite place.

After my 10th birthday, my grandmother started to get sick. We would visit her every Sunday for dinner, eating Wilson BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, and she would go on and on about how we needed to carry out “her” tradition with our future children. She would continuously say, “You better show them my favorite spot, Anne. They won’t know how magical it is until they have been there themselves!” Once she got sicker, she could barely mutter those words out of her mouth, but I knew exactly what she was going to say. I needed to take them to this spot. On her last days, when final decisions were being made, she explained to my father that Silver Sands is where she wanted her ashes to be spread. She knew what was happening to her body, and the rapid decay of her health, but still insisted on spending her afterlife in her spot. She wanted nothing more than her body to be cast within the seas of Jamaica.

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I can tell you exactly where I was the day that she had passed. My younger sisters and I had been playing Just Dance on our Wii in the bonus room in my house in Guilford. We were in the middle of dancing to “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” by Cydni Lauper when both of my paren’t emerged in the doorway. My sisters and I all stopped flailing our arms and turned our attention to our white faced parents. They told us to turn off the Wii and to sit down on the couch for a minute because they needed to explain to us something important. A million thoughts sprinted through my mind but the phrase, “Grandma Jane passed away this morning," was not one of them. I couldn’t believe the words that had just lingered out of their mouths. I didn’t know how to react. My parents seemed to be putting on a brave face, and my sisters didn’t understand at the time what this actually meant. I, following in my parents footsteps, put on a strong face in public but at night it was a different story. My dreams were beginning to be about her and I frequently woke up in the middle of the night in tears. My subconscious was feeling everything I had been ignoring during the day. Three weeks later, my parents told us that at Christmas we would be having her funeral in Jamaica and I couldn’t help but be somewhat excited just so I could be close to her in someway again.

****

Now, after our silent breakfast, my sisters and I scattered back to our rooms, and quickly changed into our bathing suits and cover ups. I picked out my Grandma’s favorite bathing suit, a bright blue and white polka dot bikini, threw on an oversized white t-shirt, and gathered my hair into a neat bun. As I walked back into the living room, I could feel the somberness between my parents. This feeling was contagious throughout the room and I knew what this day was going to bring. My younger sisters and I sat in silence and made sure not to ask any questions.

Once we all had gathered in the living room, my dad led us down the dirt path and to the boat launch, where we were to meet the rest of my father's side of the family. Once my cousins started arriving, I clung closer to them, nervous of what was to come. After everyone had arrived, we all piled into three, green small raggedy boats and headed out to the coral reef. One boat following the next, we looked like ducklings following their mother, not knowing where they were going, but always wanting to go where she went. Five minutes had passed, and the water that was crystal clear and like glass had now changed to a dark blue, signifying that we were now here at the coral reef. My grandma had always talked highly of this spot. Every other day she would make someone drive her out on boats to take her to this spot. The one time I went with her, which was the first time I had the courage to go snorkeling, she had held my hand the entire time. She put her mask on, and then helped me with mine. After our “underwater eyes," as she called them, were put in place, she hopped into the water and waited for me to get in. After contemplating what was down there, I decided to jump in and explore what my Grandma had always raved about. It was amazing what kind of things you can uncover, after you get over an initial fear.

Our boats started to slow down and gather in a close knit circle. Everyone sat in silence, as my father stood up and began to speak. With a box of ashes in his hands, he talked about my Grandma in depth. He discussed all the things she had accomplished, how amazing she was as a mother, and the vast multitude of things that she had taught him. What struck me the most though, was hearing my father talk about her sanctuary, the place in which we had been celebrating her for the past week during Christmas. He sounded just like her in the words that he chose to describe Jamaica. He talked about how she loved the different shades of blue in the water because it reminded her that there was life beneath the surface. She had always thought that there was coral to explore, fish to see, and untouched waters to wander directly at her fingertips. She loved the way the sun would bake her skin and leave its mark after a full day of sitting in her beach chair. She wished to share all of the things that she loved with her family, which was we reunited her every holiday season.

This was the first and only time I have seen my father cry. Salty tears filled his eyes and sprinted down his cheek to his chin. His words started to cling together, not forming normal sentences as his shaky hands filled with dusty ashes leaned over the boat. He began to sprinkle my Grandma over the coral and we all watched with swollen eyes as she floated down to the bottom of the ocean floor. After she was emptied from the box and all of her resided with the coral reef and the fish that accompanied it, our boats turned around and headed for shore. With all of our heads down, the whole ride back I couldn’t help but think about how I was going to keep my Grandma’s promise and always return back to her spot. That day will forever live on in my mind, and the times that we return to Jamaica for Christmas, I can’t help but be remembered of my Grandma and the times we had spent with her there.

After recently conversing with my father over this memory, I came to realize how hard that specific Christmas trip had been for him. When I was younger I could see the emotions on his face, but that was all I could gather. Now being older, I can understand the feelings he had. He told me when I talked about this memory that going to the reef that day was the hardest day of his life so far. He remembers choking on the words that he wanted to say, and having a hard time letting his mother go. He knew that this was where she wanted to be put to rest, but he selfishly wanted it closer to where he was. He remembers all of the good times he had with his mother and the Silver Sands beach, all the sand castles they made, and all the fish they had found within the coral colonies. He had told me that as a kid this was just a place they vacationed and he never knew the significance of it until he got older. I directly related to this. When I was a kid, the only way I knew how to describe this tradition was that my Grandma liked to take us on vacation over Christmas. Now with more knowledge, I know it is more than that. It is a place that my family, collectively likes to spend time together, a special place, where my Grandma can watch over us, and be on vacation with us. After the day we scattered her ashes in the reef, and I thought over the promise I had made her, I am committed to taking my family to this place. This was her favorite place and now it has become mine.