The "My Way"

    When our children left home, it was just two of us in our empty nest. We needed something to do together. I wanted an RV. He wanted a boat. Guess who won!

     We spent many happy times on the “My Way”. Bob was Captain. I was cook, deckhand, and anchor handler. I never had a chance to pilot our thirty-six foot cruiser, but I didn't mind. I delighted in his joy.

     Then Bob developed bone- marrow cancer. Six months later he was gone. Along with my grief, I experienced panic. What about the boat?  My first thought was to sell it. 

      “Nonsense,” my salty daughter Pam admonished me. “You can handle the boat. I'll help you.”

      It took a massive amount of Pam's goading before I finally agreed to make the three-hour drive from Albany, Georgia to Jacksonville, Florida. Was I crazy? This was Bob’s baby, after all.  

     As I reached I-10, calmness enveloped me. I felt Bob's presence. By the time I got to the marina, I knew he was near me. A subtle feeling, but there.

     “Hi, Mom,” Pam yelled, running toward me. “Ready for our big adventure?”

     The “My Way” bobbed gently in her slip. Her white hull and polished chrome glistened in the morning sun. That's a big boat, I thought. Am I sure I can do this?
     After I stepped down into the cockpit, Pam started pointing things out. "Remember, starboard is right, port is left."  

     I stared blankly at her. “For today can we just call it right and left?”

     She laughed. “First things first. Here’s where you put the keys.” Talk about beginners. “And this is how you move the throttles.”  She squeezed my hand. “Are you ready?”

     “I guess so,” I gulped. I hoped I didn’t look as terrified as I felt.    

     I turned on the engines. They roared thunderously, then settled down to a steady, deep drone.
     Pam cast off the stern lines and moved to the bow. "We're free. I'll fend off if I have to."
     I ran my tongue nervously over my lips. Flashes of adrenalin raced through me. I was going to do this! My hands shook as we moved out of the slip into the Ortega River. I didn't hit anything.
    Once we got fully into the St. Johns River, I relaxed a little.
    Pam grinned. "That was good. Now just set a steady speed and you can sit at the wheel."
    The seat felt good beneath my wobbly legs. I spied the first marker and headed toward it.

     “You don't have to follow the markers, Mom.” Pam laughed. “Dad liked to chart his route, but the river is so deep and wide you don't have to. Just take us out.”

     It was almost sacrilege not to do things Bob's way, but it made the trip a lot easier.  The day was glorious, perfect for an afternoon's cruise. Reflections of the sun flickered up from the water, turning and flipping with the movement of the waves. Seagulls followed us, squawking for food. I felt happy for the first time since Bob died.

     Pam had me practice maneuvering the boat in reverse. We were lucky not to have wind or tide changes hindering us. Then the moment of truth arrived. It was time to head back.

     Heart pounding, I moved the “My Way” into the marina. Slow, very slow now. I eased the throttles into reverse.  Neither of us said a word as Pam tied the boat to the dock and I shut down the engines. Then we looked at each other and let out one loud scream! I had done what I thought impossible.
     Maybe I had absorbed more than I realized watching Bob, but I prefer to think he was guiding me, his hands over mine on the throttles. We were at our best on the boat he so loved.

    I became pretty good at handling the “My Way”. For weeks, as I drove to Jacksonville, I sensed Bob's nearness. I felt him close when I took out the boat. Then one day he was gone, job done.

     Happy tears filled my eyes as I whispered, “Thank you, darling, for being my guardian angel. I'll be fine now.”  Bob knew I was ready to do it my way.