This is an opinion column

When I saw her, I knew it had been too long. From nearly losing my father after heart surgery and my family’s journey into fostering, I didn’t know where to begin. The past couple of years have been some of the toughest I’ve faced. I’ve always loved the Gulf of Mexico, but this year I just had to see her again.

I’ve made a pilgrimage to the white sands and emerald waters for as long and often as I can remember.

As a child vacationing in Destin, I built countless sandcastles by day and caught buckets of ghost crabs by night. As a teenager, my friends and I came of age cruising the Panama City strip like we owned the world. Those were some of the best memories of my life.

As a younger man, I didn’t realize how fortunate I was to have parents willing and able to take vacations to the beach. Setting out on my own, the water’s siren call never left.

I remember one year as a young professional when my growing family could barely make ends meet. Vacations were out of the question. Yet I found myself on a familiar path down I-65. After a few morning work meetings in Montgomery and Mobile, I kept heading south until I hit The Hangout.

In a black suit, white dress shirt, and red tie, I pulled into the nearby public beach access. To say I was ill equipped was an understatement. As the hot sun bore down on me, I ripped off my dress shoes and socks, ditched the jacket and tie, and rolled up my pants.

I walked across the sand and into the calm water. I chatted with the Gulf for a minute and apologized for the abbreviated nature of our visit. I’m sure folks wondered whether I’d lost my mind.

I dried off my feet with my shirt, put on my shoes, and drove all the way back home. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the salt and sand between my toes quite as much as I did that day.

As I raised my own family, we explored Alabama’s beaches. We ate blue crabs we caught right in the surf on Dauphin Island. I’ve never found a place on earth than visiting old Fort Morgan with no breeze. In Gulf Shores, I held the boogie board for my boys just like my dad held it for me.

Last year, we were about to head down to the beach, when we got word that my father needed heart surgery. My dad never complains, and he’ll minimize what ails him so that his family won’t worry. In this case, surgeons stopped his heart, repaired it, and discovered it didn’t immediately restart. After four days on a ventilator, my father came back to us. We didn’t realize how close we were to losing him until he was months into recovery. God truly answered many fervent prayers.

Convincing my father that he couldn’t throw the football with his grandsons for a while have been as tough on him as the surgery. My brother, sister, and our families came together and cared for my parents. We planted the garden, mowed the lawn, cleaned the house, and helped organize meals. Like my father, we didn’t complain. We’re all living on borrowed time; some moments just help us see that with more clarity.

At the same time, my family began fostering. We provided a home to a teenager who hadn’t had anything that resembled a stable family for the first 16 years of his life. The ensuing year was a challenging education on trauma, race, forgiveness, and unconditional love.

The experience reminded me that I’m not the Messiah. I can’t save myself, much less anyone else. Until we fostered a child, I hadn’t realized how much of my parenting is based on my own pride.

Our son experienced hell on earth as a boy, and it left a mark. Many of the people who hurt him are gone. We were not. When times were tough, he lashed out at the ghosts of his past, but my family bore the consequences. Cycles of pain and trauma perpetuate themselves.

The Bible speaks of a greater love that gives itself up for another. It is a radical concept in our culture of self, but I watched my wife do it. My boys did it. In great humility, they embraced a son and brother. They put his interests above their own. My family found a brutal love that darkness did not and cannot overcome.

Our son had planned to come with us to the beach for the first time in his life, but he ultimately chose to chart a different path apart from our family. We still talk, but it’s a stark reminder that none of the children in my charge will likely live with me permanently. We love them, equip them, and send them on their way. That’s life.

A sandy confessional might sound a bit odd, but my soul needs it from time to time. The wind and the waves are a constant amidst all of life’s changes. The tides came in long before I arrived and will go out long after I’m gone. The challenges facing my family are fleeting, and we, ourselves, only last a bit longer. Like a beautiful shell tossed in the surf, the Gulf of Mexico reminds me to seize the moments in my life with the people I love before the currents change.

I look forward to the next time I’ll see my friend. I’ll undoubtedly have plenty of updates and a few more gray hairs. Hopefully, I’m wiser, kinder, and better at regularly applying sunscreen.

Smith is a recovering political attorney with a house full of boys, two dogs, a bearded dragon, and an extremely patient wife. He’s a partner in a media company, a business strategy wonk, and a regular on talk radio. Please direct outrage or agreement to [email protected] or @DCameronSmith on Twitter.