I watched pop sitting on the bench just off the beach, watching the surf. It was the middle of summer and a perfect day for beach going: hundreds of vacationers sunning and cavorting, building sand castles, searching for shells; on the boardwalk, I knew he was listening to the clack-clack-clack of sandals passing by. I was at the fruit stand, getting a bowl for each of us. Pop would maybe take a few bites. I watched him, knowing it was the last time he would see the place he loved. We were taking him to hospice tomorrow, and he was absorbing every bit of the place that he had loved since childhood. Remembering and keeping it in his heart. Now it’s a year later, and I’m holding a jar of pop’s cremains. Family and friends all together, assembled at the pier. It is time. I open the jar and let him go, free now, an eternal summer day.