I am not sure I have ever touched the Gulf Of Mexico with my toes. I don’t think I have ever allowed the waves to crest over my feet, or dig into the white sand. I am now worried that I may not get that chance.

I grew up in a little town tucked sweetly into the bay between Atlantic City and the New Jersey mainland. Seagulls perched in our trees and the sounds of them cawing to each other followed you throughout your day. While playing in the yard…you had to only dig down the smallest bit before you hit water. Walking to the end of my street brought you to the marsh and the water. Trucks pulling boats were a normal sight as they approached the dock down the road.

I understand the fierce feelings that those living on the Gulf are experiencing. The relationship with the sea that those have that live on it is a special thing and one that is not easily explained. Every year my family heads to the beach for the year and for that week…I feel at ease and at home. Jim always has a joke about how every year, the last thing I do before I leave is go touch the water and say goodbye. I feel a kinship with the ocean, this ebbing, ever changing woman who supports so many.

I am praying that the oil is controlled soon. I am praying that the currents don’t take it even further than expected. I am praying that hurricane season doesn’t move it in unpredictable ways.

I am praying for those that love it.

I am praying that I get a chance to one day come down and say hello to her. To touch my hands to her clean water and introduce myself to another part of this ocean that I love so much.