The last time I saw my grandfather in person was tumultuous, emotional and had my soul and spirit pulled in different directions. North South East and West, Up and Down. Perhaps appropriate for the journey I was about to take. Upon return, after his soul and body were separated, the dust and drops of my adventure had settled, I attended his last moments above land, aided his peaceful passage back into the earth.
My heart had decided that spontaneously sailing the south Pacific sea was sane and sound, and my friends and aquaintances backed me up. My head was reeling in a conversation with my family en route to the hospice to see my grandfather for a final time, instilling doubt and shaking the decision that I had made in confidence. They were, of course, showing me their concern and unyielding love, which I found touching and trying. I didn’t have reasonable responses to their deep inquiries and the dream fulfillment that faced me seemed flighty and not well thought out. Before being with my family this day, I was solid and steadfast in the chance to follow my destiny. I was already teary eyed and sniffling before we entered the comfortable house of segway between two worlds.
The spring sun was warm and after navigating through corridors and elevators, with codes and secret handshakes as barriers to deter patients with dementia from escape, we found my grandfather wrapped and warm sitting in the courtyard. I got a hold of myself with some deep breaths and a splash of cold water and went to enjoy the moment with the family. His blue eyes, passed to my mother and sequentially to me, were like the sea I would soon sail, his white cozy blankets cumulous clouds that would pass over the vessel I would inhabit for the months to follow. He was his sassy self, smiling and at ease. Pain free yet missing his own home, he was content and we spoke of everything but the reason that he was in the kind hospice. When the sun descended we fought with the coded doors to reenter, wheeled Grandpa to his room and made some coffee. My Auntie G, in her Topsiders, saddled up to me for a frank and informative conversation. Although most of my kin was against the thought of little curly Kelly setting sail with a stranger, if I was to do this anyways I should know some tips from a sailor herself. Auntie G taught me: always stay with the boat, no matter what…they float; If a hurricane tosses the vessel around, tie myself down so I don’t get tossed around; Always wear my harness, clipped in, when on deck at night; Check into gadgets and gizmos aplenty for communication and safety. She inquired: Do we have a life raft, epirb, SSB, submersion suits?; What is his certifications? She assured: I am strong and smart and am following my heart. Thanks Auntie G!
As my mother reminded me of the reason for the visit, we made our way to my G.pa’s room. Just outside I faced his wife, a grandmother to me for 20 years. I told her of my plans and she embraced me as if she wouldn’t let me go. “You can’t leave us. You can’t leave your family when your grandfather is going to pass away.” Immediate heartbreak. Crushing guilt wrapped around my neck. Conscious and deliberate contradictions to my plan. The scales were weighted heavier again.
I composed myself once again, and tried to not let this weight affect any time with G.pa. Chatting with him, holding his hand, and explaining my plans to him were the easiest parts of the visit. He was happy for me, and at peace with the fulfilling journey we were both going to take over the next few months. This helped to settle to my heart and my nerves.
After being at sea for 29 days, without contact from the outside world, save for a quick radio call to a passing freighter, I finally reached land and was able to reach out to the connections that I had defied and denied back in Canada. Through various correspondence between family members regarding details of planning my Grandfather’s funeral, I learned that he had passed away on May 21. Two days before we arrived to solid ground the funeral was held. I looked back at my ship’s log and thought the lyrics within the entry quite appropriate for a sad day in the hearts of my family. My father emailed me the news, slightly more personalized: “If you look up at the stars tonight and look waaaaaaaaaaay past them you will see the hazy edge of heaven where your Grandpa is dancing with Grandma right now. …………… Can Mennonites dance ?!?!” The metaphor is satisfying, as moving to soul music and connections with the universal sparkle are highly valued experiences to me. I spoke with my parents a few times online, and attempted to give verbal and virtual hugs to them, especially my mother, who had lost her father.
Now back on dry land and settling into a vagabond’s life in Canada, more of the family was available to finish the business of burial. There were details to decide upon, regulations with remains to adhere to and arranging a small collective to be available took some time. The week beforehand I went out for dinner with my step.grandmother, and she asked if my trip, the joys and pains, the sailing and the shipwreck, were worth leaving my family for. I explained that it would have been hard to turn down a chance to live my dreams in the chance that there would be a funeral to attend. She assured me there certainly was going to be a funeral while I was away. I don’t regret my decision, I learned an ocean about myself, and I’d do it again, with some alterations, I explained. It broke my heart to be out of contact with people I know would worry and wonder about my well-being. The isolation was not easy. I hope that I explained this to a widow well enough. She’ll have to take me for how she perceives me. We still share respect for each other.
Driving to the maze of Surrey on September 24, almost four months after G.pa had joined my true G.ma, the grey skies threatened rain and tornados of leaves spun around our ankles. Walking over headstones and buried caskets conjured images of how the lives below had lived, each differently than anyone else on earth, with their own challenges, connections and contentment. G.pa was to be buried in the same plot as his first wife, and it has been years since I’ve visited her there.
The gathering was small, but connected because of my G.pa. What struck me the deepest, nearest and dearest, were accounts of G.pa’s strong silent type, unless he was telling a story or making a sassy joke, and how he expressed his love and care to people through hard work and action. He was a busy man, always with a project, and always directing his expertise and energy toward someone to display his affection and ability to help. These are qualities that I have harboured and honoured within myself. The family ties are strong in this realm. I am blessed to have inherited those qualities to continue.
I read to G.pa and the collective present from my ship’s log. The day he passed away I had deciphered lyrics to ‘Sad and Lonely’. The music that moves me runs through my veins. The day after he had passed, we sailed through squall after squall and the horizon was littered in rainbows, an atmospheric pleasure for me, and considered a promise in the story of Noah’s Ark, taught to me at a young age. I found it outstandingly heartwarming in retrospect that Grandpa was with me out at sea and had, unbeknownst to me at the time, expressed himself through avenues that I value and cherish: His story was sung through an emotional song one day and the next brought bright and fleeting rainbows, an optimistic act of nature.
I pulled an orange rose from his flower arrangement to leave in the rainwater of my Grandma’s vase, a perfect fit and the same shades as sunset over sea. Feeling ‘I miss you’ and saying goodbye, I turned to catch up with the crew, passing the neighbouring headstone, whose last name read ‘Hinton’. A sign of things to come…
Day 18: KuKuKaChoo : May 21
Day 19: less than 1000nm : May 22
…Something different is in this equatorial air. Clouds hamper horizon views but they are not static. A variety of vapor shapes drop sheets of rain and we can see the course of these storms, or squalls in sailing terms, if they wreck havoc upon us.
A spattering of rain dusted the deck, a welcome wash of fresh water. Rain in sunny climates of course translates to rainbows, arc-en-ceil. Completing its reach, a full arching glowing message of change.
Green in the Blue 