Some people collect shells.
I collect conversations.
For the last 16 years, there's been one place where I've felt closest to my mom: standing barefoot at the edge of the Gulf, looking down at the sand, talking to her as if she never really left.
When my mom passed away, I wasn't looking for signs. Grief has a way of making you wish for them, but I never wanted to force meaning into ordinary moments. Then one day, while walking the beach, I found a perfect sand dollar.
Then another.
And another.
Over the years, it became our thing.
Now, whenever life feels heavy, exciting, confusing, or wonderfully chaotic, I head to the beach. I talk to her out loud. I tell her about the kids. About work. About the crazy ideas that somehow become businesses. About the things I wish I could ask her.
And somehow... I always seem to find a sand dollar.
Sometimes it's tiny enough to fit on the tip of my finger. Sometimes it's perfectly whole. Sometimes it's weathered and worn from years in the surf. But every single one feels like her way of saying, "I'm listening. I'm still here."
Could it be coincidence?
Of course.
But love has a funny way of making coincidences feel like conversations.
I've learned that grief doesn't really disappear. It changes shape. It softens around the edges. It becomes woven into who we are instead of something we carry behind us. And for me, those little sand dollars have become reminders that love doesn't end just because someone is no longer standing beside you.
It's why you'll find little pieces of the coast tucked throughout Emerald Coast Needlepoint.
It's why coastal designs mean so much more to me than simply being "beachy."
And it's exactly why I designed our Sand Dollar Needle Minder.
It isn't just another coastal accessory.
It's a tiny reminder that the people who shape us never really leave us. That some of our sweetest conversations happen in quiet moments. That hope sometimes washes ashore when we least expect it.
Every time I see that little sand dollar in our home, I'm reminded of mornings on the beach with my mom, talking into the breeze and waiting for the tide to answer.
And somehow...
It always does.
So if you've ever had someone you miss...
If you've ever looked for a sign...
If you've ever believed that love has a way of finding us again...
I hope this little sand dollar brings you the same quiet comfort it brings me.
Because after 16 years, I still walk the shoreline.
I still tell my mom everything.
And somehow...
She still finds a way to answer.
"Perhaps the greatest gift isn't finding the sand dollar. It's knowing that love has a way of leaving treasures where we need them most." 💙
