Why I Stayed: Finding Community in Galveston

By Honi Alexander

I moved to Galveston in 2015 for one reason—to take care of my mother. At the time, I had no deep connection to the island, no childhood memories of summers on the beach, and no family roots here. It was simply where I needed to be. And then, life happened. My father’s health also declined, so I stayed. 

At the time, I was a real estate agent but knew no one and sought community, so I started volunteering in 2017, becoming a Deputy Voter Registrar. Soon after, I volunteered with the Young Gardeners Program (YGP) at Rosenberg Elementary, and at Freedom School through Nia Cultural Center while still selling real estate. 

Then 2020 changed everything. My mother, already battling ALS and Sjögren’s Syndrome, could only blink and partially smile. My father, suffering from COPD and heart failure, worsened. By August, doctors said there was nothing more they could do. I became their full-time caregiver, turning our living room into a hospital and sleeping on a loveseat at their feet. 

On the rare moments when a caregiver came, I’d escape to the secluded beaches on the West End, dig my toes in the sand, crunch seashells, and visualize better days. The ocean was my breath of relief, my solace between the weight of caretaking and the inevitable heartbreak. On October 27, 2020, my father passed. Three days later, on October 30, my mother followed. 

After they passed, the ocean remained my comfort. I have walked the beach and cried, bawled so hard I’d fall to my knees at the water’s edge, releasing the pain of loss, embracing the comfort of forever, and envisioning the possibility of a life still filled with happiness, love, and joy. The school gardens had shut down, but we continued growing food for the families of our young gardeners. After my parents passed, I spent hours at the LA Morgan garden, crying, praying, and planting. That garden saved me. It gave me clarity and a space to piece myself back together. 

Somehow, through all that grief, I found my way back to myself. I threw myself into work. I became the full-time Program Director of YGP at Galveston’s Own Farmers Market, attended community events, joined the NAACP, and built a life here. I worked out on the beach four to five days a week—because I love the water. I love the people who exercise outdoors, I got to know so many faces whose names I may never learn.

Five years later, I'm more embedded in this community than ever before. I'm the 1st Vice President of the NAACP, on the Vision Galveston board, co-facilitating Mortar Entrepreneurial Academy, and growing my business, Honey Gnomes Best—introducing children to diversity through play and storytelling. I find joy in the gardens with students, watching them dig their hands into the soil and light up with curiosity. I started SEED (Students for Eco-Empowerment & Diversity), a paid high school internship introducing teens to green careers, gardening, and food justice. 

I graduated from the first Galvanize cohort through the American Leadership Forum and I travel nationally as a speaker and workshop facilitator in the school garden community. And all of this—every single piece of it—happened because I chose to stay in Galveston. I still laugh when I think back to when my parents told me they were retiring here. "Who goes to Galveston to retire?!" I had said, my disbelief practically dripping from my voice. Now, I get it. 

It's the sunrise walks on the beach, where the waves carry both memories and new beginnings. It’s the food from Soul Food to street tacos to 5-star seafood. It’s the quiet strength of a city that has rebuilt itself time and again, and the people who pour their hearts into making it better. It’s the deep-rooted history, the vibrant arts, and the kind of conversations that turn strangers into family. 

Galveston isn’t just where I live—it’s where I’ve healed, grown, and found my purpose. It’s where I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt, cried until the ocean carried my grief away, and stood back up, ready to give back. It’s home. 

This island has a way of wrapping itself around you. Of pulling you in when you least expect it. I rarely leave. Trips into Houston feel like a journey to an entirely different place, enjoyable, but very different. 

I didn’t come to Galveston by choice but, I became an Islander by choice.