Those Apart

On the leeward side of the island, my mother launched the boat. She would launch the skiff from the shore and row out to where the waves would saunter in. As a young child, I was frightened of the dark and cried in fear. As the boat began to rock, my voice and concerns became silent. The gentle rocking of the waves would roll and soothe my tears. The stars would shine down to assure me that all the eyes in the sky and all the dark of night had seen and heard my cries.

The moon lit a streak in the water, giving my mother’s heart direction. This light in the dark sky begged her onward. As the paddles touched the water and reached for depth, the swirls reminded us that we had far to go while on earth. The firmament of her heart and world would not be secure until he returned to solid ground.

The gulls would pierce the night with their cries, and mother would dry her eyes from the possibility of her loss. She had set to sea to console me, but her only consolation was the thought of her love returning to her. If he were lost, so would she be. He had set sail on a four-masted ship to attain a fortune so that their life together would be secure.

The world had been fighting one another for four years. My father's ship was a merchant ship; in war, it did not matter. She had had no word at that time, but she could not consider that he had departed this world. Yet she received no word or sign of his impending return. The world was grand, but the sky was grander. She prayed to the grandiose of God for her love to be granted back safe and sound.

Each night, as the fire in the hearth fell to coals, we would walk to the sea. My mother’s pace would always quicken as we approached the boat at the water’s edge. Some nights, just like the rest of the world, the sea was also at war. Large crashes of waves upon waves filled my ears. Each wanted its place in the world in which it lived. Like others in the war, they fell, never heard or seen again.

The next full moon, we launched our craft as the waves gently broke upon the shore. As before, the lone light beckoned my mother out to sea. She and the waves rocked me on the water as we wove through the waves, and I fell fast asleep. In her serenity of heart and soul, she knew my father would be home soon, and in her hope, she slowly went insane.

In the fever of her loneliness, there was no cure. The fever rose and waves swelled. In the light of the moon, she saw a four-masted ship with its sails unfurled, heading toward its home port. She put her hands and backbone into the oars as a farmer puts his to the plow. With no horse to pull, she strained and cried; there was no time not to find him now. Her love was near, yet not in her eyes.

As the sunrise was supposed to appear, clouds took its place. The waves were declaring war, and the battle against my mother would soon come to an end. The combating waves restricted the view of the jetty, granting safety to the harbor. Each wave resembled the hill where land was safe and sound. However, each wave wanted to take us from the safety of our home.

I saw the fear and tears swell in her eyes as the large ship lowered its sails due to the gale wind. Each time she looked over her shoulder, she corrected her path toward home. Now unsteady, weak, and unsure, doubt overcame her, and she ceased her attempts. Just like the large ship, she would be adrift in the storm. Like the large ship, she could do little to steer our course.

I sat next to my mother and told her I would pull an oar so we could make it home. She handed one to me. The weight in my hand was much more than what my mother had made it look. She sang a lullaby of men going to sea as we pulled together. I sang with her to console her as she did for me. The jetty was near, but the ship had disappeared.

Water filled my boots, and the skirt my mother wore was soaked. While at war, the waves could not sink our spirits or drown our hopes. My father’s ship had surely made port. It must have. We were sure our efforts would end inside the jetty, in the reward we had endured years of loneliness for. My father would be home. I hoped he would remember me.

As we ascended the hill to our home, a single figure came walking toward us. My mother grasped my hand, and her gate widened, and her speed increased. I stumbled to keep up. She called out his name but received no answer. She took several more strides and repeated his name, but there was no reply. Surely, it had to be him!

Just as with the four-year voyage, no message returned. Just as with his absence, there was no way of knowing without confirmation. Was it my father? If it were, would he be the same man? Would the love still exist between them? Was my father among the living or lost at sea?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There are very few known, knowns in life. Some things we know for sure are how unsure the future can be. The storms in life and the dark of night remind us to be aware and thankful for the light in our lives and days when life is warm. Sometimes life will want to swirl and keep us from solid ground.

As we look ahead, no matter how well we plan, a stronger or larger power can take our plans from us. Life’s sea and the waves. No one can do it alone. We all must pull together. The size of your boat does not matter. In the time of loss and separation, we will cry like the gulls over the ocean. In the times of our gatherings and successes, we will sing. The harmony of angels is far better than that in hell.

Try to keep an open mind, open heart, and open ears. While judging is natural, it is harder to hold our tongues. A wagging tongue can put a wave on the water and start a storm. Be kind in your opinion of others, and gracious in your response to whatever someone might say to you.

Let us stand together as one and invite him who stands alone.

“Though you may be only one, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” Ecclesiastes 4:12

Do not let the unknown darkness fool you. The light of the new day is always as near as those we love.