Royal Caribbean’s Serenade of the Seas astounds in its berth. Reminiscent of posed miniature dolls, mother and daughter smile. Hardly believing this massive hotel is their home for the next ten nights, they move forward, entering the tent for identity check before SeaPass issuance. Passports, credit cards, and reservation documentation inspection results in verification, their SeaPasses in hand, and permission to proceed for picture taking, one step closer to the gangplank. Exiting the tent, they stop again enthralled.
Once aboard with stateroom organized, mother and daughter scout the ship then stake out reclining lounge chairs. Drifting over tame Atlantic waves carrying them to their first port with the sun beating down on their sunscreen plastered bodies, they nap and read on the quiet, curved prow of deck 13, relaxation basking at its best. The sun retreats lower on the western horizon, sending signals from mind to stomachs that sustenance refreshes sun-soaked people.
Surrendering their perfect hideaway to hunger, the women walk down two flights of stairs arriving in the Windjammer buffet restaurant replete with culinary stations to satisfy. Rebekah’s red t-shirt with an unusual saying catches the attention of an inquisitive chef. In bold yellow letters, he reads aloud, ‘I only work to pay for geocaching.’ “What is geocaching?” Always obliging any conversation centering on her hobby, she answers concisely just as her mother comes up to the station. He says hello. The two notice a vacant table and excuse themselves, carrying their choices. Shortly he appears asking about the food’s quality and stays to chat.
Today’s at sea vacation agenda includes chatting, reading, napping, contemplating, and staring in wonderment at water’s white-capped waves sloshing against the hull. A gentle breeze builds in strength as the ship navigates the ocean. Before long, under bright winter skies, the sun doing its best to warm, gusts blow across the bow. Exposed skin skimmed by the wind, very few passengers lounge in this perfect hideaway. Ultraviolet rays penetrate swift-moving white billowing marshmallows overhead, lightly toasting cream drenched flesh.
Fascinated by swiftly changing cloud formations and depths, she stretches out on her back, intently observing every detail. Remembering days of playing ‘I spy a giraffe’ in the sky sets her mind adrift. Waves of nostalgia begin crashing.
Hacking and coughing, annoying to himself and others, strained his patience and social interactions. Always looking for a way to serve others, Alan rarely felt accepted, merely his presence tolerated for the disruptive, loud, uncontrollable sounds created by a deep cough or hack to clear his throat. Baffled after years of breathing and lung capacity tests, suggested meeting with a cardiothoracic specialist to discuss options. After carefully reviewing medical history, general health, lifestyle, plans, and understanding possible complications, they left the office with lung biopsy surgery scheduled. Discharged after a few days for recovery in the hospital came with temporary, unexpected appendages by way of a chest tube and oxygen in tow. Once home, they received precautionary and detailed instructions involving the care, caution, and use of a large liquid oxygen unit, oxygen concentration on a thirty-foot hose, and small refillable canisters.
July 2 dawns with the distressing discovery of mucous coloured gooey liquid seeping through his shirt, a leak at the bandaged chest tube site. Silent was the 45-minute drive to the hospital, where he would need to spend the night for tests. The next morning, a visit by his cardiothoracic surgeon brings a wave of discouraging news, garnered from surgery. Alan’s diagnosis of interstitial lung disease and bronchiectasis, while incurable, requires oxygen longer than anticipated. Hope returns with the receding swell that life will continue, including their cruise booked for February 2017 on the Serenade of the Seas and chest tube removal in a few days when the pneumonia and a staff infection are no longer issues. After much deliberation over several weeks, they determine to change the reservation, allowing a daughter to accompany her when it becomes apparent this would not be enjoyable for him.
Glad of sunglasses blocking moistened eyes, she feels rocked by the internal swaying motion. Turning her head left, gratitude surfaces for this opportunity to spend time in warmer climes with her daughter, a friend. Attempting to disguise sniffles does not fool her awakened companion who returns her gaze and compassionately smiles. They both feel the loss.
Sunday, February 5, 2017 – “I can always look back and wish things were different in the last couple of weeks before Alan passed away. I really didn’t know and then accept that I was going to lose him. If (what a dangerous word cloaked in falsehood) I could go back…but it is not to be.”
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky in the morning, sailor take warning, so the rhyme goes. Arising early to climb nine flights of mid-ship stairs proves well worth the effort. A perfect vantage point, as the soft large white circular, glowing orb, touched by a radiating, golden halo, begins its slow rise above the vast ocean’s eastern horizon, dispelling last nights’ red-hued remnants hanging onto the edges. The ‘Land of the Turtle Dove’ and pirates coming into view, the ship manoeuvers with precision. Eyes dart from nature’s call to awaken at the edge of water’s falling away to their first port. Imaginings of yesteryear’s pirates drift into her mind, Tortola, while dockworkers stand at the ready, waiting for mooring ropes. Not a game of tug-of-war between man and vessel but the job of securing a cruise ship to its assigned berth watched intently. The captain’s accented voice announces clearance granted. After breakfast, they excitedly disembark with GPS in hand for their first Caribbean geocaching adventure. They meet fellow cachers. An invitation offered to join an island caching excursion the next day in St. Kitts, eagerly accepted, brings smiles.
With the evening shadows, she feels it first, an intensity swelling, forcefully lifting the turquoise crystalline base over and around her, a giant monster with hollow innards, holding her tight within its grasp. Riding inside waves frightens. “I don’t want others to see me sad or crying because I do not want to make them feel bad or sorry for me. I need to be strong. I cannot visualize Alan gone. He won’t be home waiting when I return, as we discussed before ICU. It is too unreal and difficult.” Surfing towards the opening takes skill she does not possess. The roaring pierces her ears as the wave curls in frothy white majestic finale pounding her heart. Pushing her into the depths of warm waters, struggling to reach the surface for air, she kicks with all her strength. Tomorrow waits. Life happens…so do waves.
Paradise in February, dawning rays warming the deck, gentle azure waters, a panacea. Yesterday’s fun-filled adventures and turbulent moments past, no pirates can pillage the anticipation of today. Meeting at the designated place, they patiently await transportation to another, much smaller dock. Receiving instructions and life vests, they sit dockside and decide who will enter first. Lovingly supervised, the inexperienced paddler slowly places her feet in the cockpit, turns her body toward the bow of the boat, holding onto the paddle resting slightly above and across the low-seated opening she lowers herself calmly, howbeit, nervously into the kayak. Quickly and expertly, her daughter slips into one ready for her pleasure. Following the leader, they paddle on a lagoon excursion, taking them through mandrake inlets, where they watch for turtles, birds, and sea life.
Ready for the second half of this water-filled day under southern rays, they return kayaks in exchange for a leisurely boat ride out to a remote sandbar known as Stingray City. Tied to the floating platform, the two companions slip into an aquamarine aquarium. Walking waist-high on the soft white sand bottom, careful of sea life around their feet and legs, they reach a spot to stop, alone together except for one guide. He provides squids, exhibiting cautionary feeding technique, and observes their excited, yet easy demeanor, in attracting stingrays. Brushed by velvet with a hint of rubberiness, against their legs, rays approach eager for the hands’ offering. With mouths on the ventral side, the rays glide to rest over slightly outstretched treats in stillness.
With tired bodies and soaring spirits, the day begins to ebb. Back on the Serenade, the ship’s name seems so appropriate for the soulful lullaby resonating on the tranquil seas as they ascend stairs to the Windjammer for nourishment. The friendly chef appears at their table, chats, leaves momentarily before returning, bidding them to follow him if they have finished dining. Through Rita’s Cantina, closed to the public, to the deserted aft section where three acquaintances lean against the railing. Talking, questioning, and listening while under the darkening southwestern Caribbean celestial world silently revealing astronomical mythology, they gaze, mesmerized. Raised under starlit Canadian skies, her familiarity with constellations points his attention to Sirius, Rigel, and Betelguese (three of the top ten brightest stars in the night sky), and a string of three, Orion’s belt. Spellbound, as if touched by the hunter’s seeking arrow, speechless for a moment in time, each caught in the magical beauty of a Caribbean night adrift at sea, they reflect and connect. Very welcoming, and undulating emotion catches her breath. Comforting, peaceful, and joyful in harmony with nature, man, and God.
When life happens. . . so do waves driven by strong undercurrents as water’s powerful surf breaks through mind and heart. How do you muster the strength to kick until safely reaching shore? Life happens…so do choices, what am I to do next, gingerbread, and waves.
What navigational tools do you employ, even when some of those waves threaten your ability to breathe?
How do you savour those gingerbread moments when you find yourself in the surf?
Calm, rough, turbulent waters surround and drift each of us as we voyage in this world offering adventures fit for the weakest and stoutest sailors. All aboard.
Life Happens. . . so do Waves.
Life Happens... 