+ Starfish Abound (click to read excerpt)

Debbie loved the beach and shared this love with me at a very young age. Even in the cold winter months in New England there are plenty of photos of me, at the age of three, in my purple parka with a fur-lined hood, walking with her on the sands of Crane’s Beach on the North Shore of Massachusetts. This was one of our favorite spots throughout the years. There is a castle that sits high upon a hill in the area that overlooks the beach and ocean. I often thought I’d marry there. It was a spectacular setting appropriate for my love of the ocean and a young girl’s fantasy of beginning happily ever after. On one of my beach excursions with Debbie at the age of fourteen, I found an exquisite starfish dried to perfection in the warm August sun on Crane Beach. I kept that starfish and it began my collection—real, glass, gold, silver—it didn’t matter what form; they all were part of my assortment. My father would shop for me every Christmas at Descenza’s Diamonds in downtown Boston. I have countless pieces of jewelry from there, but only the gold starfish pendant unusually large in size and intricate in detail is a favorite of mine donned often, some thirty years later after receiving it.

Debbie was the matron of honor at my wedding. I gave her two gifts to commemorate the event. The first was a sterling silver Tiffany’s starfish pendant, which we both wore on my wedding day. The second was a trip to Cancun that we would take together in September, four months after my May wedding. I figured it would be just what we needed, some sister time on a white-sand shore and out of the cold of Colorado and New Hampshire.

The starfish has come to have more meaning to me throughout the years. As a psychologist, I appreciate the symbolism of the rejuvenation and regrowth of a broken arm of a starfish. We humans are not perfect and can feel broken at times. However, if we choose to heal, we can replenish, grow, and rejuvenate our souls just as a starfish does with its arms when wounded.

And, as a psychologist, I resonate with anthropologist Loren Eiseley’s parable of the starfish in his essay The Unexpected Universe:

One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean. Approaching the boy, he asked, “What are you doing?” The youth replied, “Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up, and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them back, they’ll die.” “Son,” the man said, “don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can’t make a difference!”

After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf. Then, smiling at the man, he said, “I made a difference for that one.” (Eiseley, 1969).

Perhaps this story subconsciously influenced my daily prayer of praying to have a positive impact on one person’s soul today. If I can make a difference for one person in a day, I’ve made it a great day.

When we moved to St. Augustine, FL, in 2010, the boys were three, three, and six years old. My lymphoma was behind me as were my prophylactic surgeries. Mark and I thought living on the ocean was a great way to replenish our souls after a tough few years. All of us, except Harry, are Pisces, born in March, and have an unwavering affinity for the water. Our first month there, I gave the boys a challenge.

“I’ll pay a dollar for every starfish you find on the beach today.” Given I hadn’t seen any starfish on the beach before, I thought this was a low-risk bet and a fun activity to do in between playing in the ocean.

Wouldn’t you know, the boys found twenty-six dried starfish on the beach that day! And in the three years that followed while living on Vilano Beach in St. Augustine, we never found another one. To me this was a sign from the divine that, like the starfish’s imperfect arm that heals itself, I, too, would be healing my heart and soul on the ocean in St. Augustine, which I did, as I was on my faith journey at that time. Divine intervention is everywhere, if you look for it.