In the weeks prior to her death, my mother longed to see the sea one last time. By that stage, however, it was already too late — she was bedbound, riddled with cancer, and unable to move. In the hope that it would bring her some comfort, I played her some of the recordings that I had made (years ago) of waves crashing on the beach, seagulls squawking, boats in the harbour, and the distant sounds of coastal life. She lay for hours… listening… drifting in and out of sleep… In lucid moments, she told me that she found the recordings peaceful. But she was not at peace. I’m sure of that. The recor...