Saulo’s 18th Birthday on the Backcountry

A birthday spent on the water is always a good one — and honestly, that’s where some of the best healing happens. Not everything the Foundation does gets shared publicly, and that’s intentional. Some families need space, privacy, and a little grace. Mary’s family is one of those. 

When I first met Mary, Saulo, and Marcel, they were in the thick of a really tough season… and that storm didn’t let up for a long time. Funny enough, our families have been orbiting each other for decades without actually knowing each other. Mary’s parents — Holly and Steve Estes — are true old-school Florida Keys locals who ran The Barometer, the little newspaper that kept this island stitched together. They were friends of my dad’s from way back in the wild-and-free Keys days. The real ones know what I mean. 

Like too many locals these days, Holly and Steve eventually had to leave the Keys because of the rising cost of simply existing here. When you’ve spent your whole life in the islands and suddenly you’re choosing between working yourself into the grave or stepping back to survive… well, it’s a choice no Conch should have to make. 

Mary stayed. She’s a first-generation Conch, same as me — and her kids are second-generation Conchs, same as mine. That alone makes us a rare breed. But what really tied us together was something heavier: we’ve both lost our spouses tragically, unexpectedly, and far too soon. 

When Mary lost Anthony — her partner and the only father figure her kids ever had — that’s when we met. I’d lost my husband just two years before. Call it trauma bonding, call it fate… whatever it was, it connected us. Her kids were old enough to remember everything. Mine… were too little to remember anything. For a while I thought that meant they’d be spared the pain. Turns out, kids carry that loss in ways we don’t always see — like a scarlet letter tucked right under the skin. 

Back in 2022 we decided to get her family out on the water for the first time. Watching those boys soak up the backcountry — wide-eyed, quiet, taking it all in — it hit me hard: not every kid who grows up in the Keys has access to the water. That was such an eye-opener for me. I grew up with a father who lived and breathed the ocean… I took that access for granted. So many locals are working so hard just to afford to stay here that time on the water becomes a luxury instead of a way of life. 

Grief doesn’t care about timelines. It doesn’t follow rules. Things often get worse before they get better. So we kept taking them fishing. Offshore. Inshore. Whatever would get them breathing again. I watched their serious faces melt into smiles — real ones — and you could just feel the weight come off their shoulders for a little while. 

In a small town you run into each other everywhere — at the park, the breakfast spot, you name it. I watched those boys go from kids to teenagers overnight. New slang, peach fuzz, and suddenly they were taller than me. Then life threw them another curveball — one of the boys was jumped and seriously injured. Traumatic brain injuries are no joke. Recovery is long, slow, and cruel. But they made it through. And the first place they wanted to go when he healed… was back on the water. 

Mary said it best: that’s where her family heals. 

She even wrote this, and I want to share it exactly as she meant it: 

“Fishing is like life for my family. Some winning some losing. When the captain sets up the rod and the boys fight that big fish that comes with laughter, smiles and a sense of accomplishment. Our minds go to a good place and nothing else matters, we call that winning. Sometimes the line will snap, we call that losing, but we know something bigger and better is to come.
A day on the water is like no other — just happy and free. This has helped my family in so many ways. We know what we have lost in life but we are thankful for what’s to come.
We want to thank the Jose Wejebe Spanish Fly Memorial Foundation for making this possible for our family.” 

So when Saulo’s 18th birthday was coming up, we didn’t even hesitate. We sent everyone out for a day on the water with a couple friends — no noise, no pressure, just ocean therapy. And it was perfect. Not because of the fish (though yeah, they caught plenty). But because they were together… laughing, healing, and creating new memories they’ll actually want to hold onto. 

This is exactly why my dad believed so deeply in taking people fishing — especially kids. And it’s exactly why the Foundation exists today. 

If stories like theirs move you… you can help us keep doing this.
These are the moments your support creates. 

#JoseWejebeFoundation