Our Loved Ones Never Leave Us

My husband was passionate about boats. He grew up sailing around the Long Island Sound, in Long Island, and in Rhode Island. He was a tugboat captain during his career, so he spent more than half his life (3 weeks on, 3 weeks off) on the sea. Shortly after our marriage in 1980, we left NY and took jobs as Captain and Mate aboard 2 separate charter sailboats, where we spent summers entertaining charter guests through New England waters, and winters in the Caribbean.

The inscription on the cover of the lovely guestbook from his memorial service was his favorite quote, from the children's book “Wind in the Willows.” It reads, so poetically, as follows ~

“Believe me, my young friend,

there is nothing,

absolutely nothing, half so much worth doing

as simply messing about in boats.”

So it seemed quite fitting to have a Viking-styled ceremony, several months after his passing. During his entire life, he always enjoyed spending time at a family property in Rhode Island. An idyllic river runs through the property, which was one of his favorite places on earth. He and I, and our two daughters, also held joyful memories of times spent at the river.

The tugboat that he captained had been re-built several years before his passing. He was able to salvage the mahogany from the interior, which he drove home in pickup truck-fuls over the course of several months. We even built a library in our home, crafting shelves made from this wood. The window in our library is the porthole from the boat.

Our older daughter, with the help of a carpenter friend, decided to use this wood to build a small sailboat in his honor (ironic, since the name of the tugboat he captained was the “Tug Honour.”)

We planned a family gathering in Rhode Island, where we would perform a ceremony at the river, that would involve this model boat. It was lovingly assembled, complete with a papyrus sail and lines made of a waxy twine. On the stern of the boat (the back of the boat to landlubbers), she built a small box, which she filled with some of his ashes. The plan was to launch the boat upstream near dusk, light it on fire, and watch it float past all 13 of us family members who waited on an old wooden dock.

We respectfully gathered on the dock, while my brother-in-law sprinkled lighter fluid onto the wooden boat. He paddled upstream from where we sat. He launched the boat, lit it on fire, and, silently, we all watched the boat float haphazardly downstream – not a flicker in sight.

Several of the male family members took matters into their own hands, enthusiastically dowsing the boat with a generous soaking of the lighter fluid. Alas, our plan worked, but the story doesn't end there.

It was a gorgeous evening, and the mood was reverent. No one spoke. It was too beautiful to pepper the scene with words. The flaming boat was truly a glorious sight. And, even in our respective meditative trances, we all were fully aware of the fact that the boat seemed to really sail, right down the center flow of the river. This river, which is so sacred to this family, bends and winds through marshy banks. The boat, however, continued to navigate, with utmost precision, carving its way through the direct center of the river. We all knew that he was there, smiling upon us.

Many of us who have experienced a profound loss claim to find solace in nature. Nature has been my sanctuary all along this journey. I have spent (and still spend) countless hours hiking in the western Carolina mountains that surround me now, and forging wild rivers. I never could have predicted that crystal clear manifestation of his soul's presence that day. I will never forget the magic of that moment, and I'll cherish the memory of that day forever. Yes, I believe, our loved ones are always with us. Sometimes we just need to remember to feel them