Buried in the garden, under her favorite rose bush, I found a waterproof pouch. Inside was a newspaper clipping: a baby rescued from a sinking ferry at sea, decades ago. The baby was Grandma. The sea star wasn't my wound at all — it was hers, the day the sea nearly took her.

I called Mom and read her the unfinished line. She gasped. 'Buried in the chapel, where she married your grandfather,' she said. 'They met at sea, during a rescue.' I drove to the little chapel and found Grandma's name carved beside his. The sea star was where their love began.