E aroha ana ahau ki a koe

Week 1

We were full of energy and happy to be back.

Gerty was not even a little worse for wear, so we immediately got to work preparing her for our passage to New Zealand. She splashed within twenty-four hours of our arrival in Raiatea, needing only a broken anode repair, and it seemed too good to be true.

Wading in the water, still hitched to the lift by muddy lines, her port engine choked, and I knew this was the trouble I had been anticipating. But Michael started it off the house battery, and his never-tested solution worked like a charm. It felt too easy.

The freshwater washdown hose burst, but in a hot minute, we secured the leak. The water pump needed to be replaced, and the lashing was worn on the trampoline; however, we had all the parts and materials to repair both. The realization that problems were being resolved swiftly was a tad curious because on sailboats, they never are.

Surely our real challenge would be getting the sails rigged in wind that wouldn’t quit. Except that Philippe arrived to help, and with three people, the task was done.

When Glen came, everything went smoother still. I remember a smug rainbow appeared in the sky, proving that even the weather window looked good to go. 

Finally, the gendarmes halted the trend. A holiday weekend was upon us, and we would not be permitted to check out. We were stuck in paradise. Two extra days of provisioning, prepping, wingfoiling, and guitar playing were almost too much to bear. What was the catch?

Week 2

My mother died at 3:00 am on Monday, and our emergency plan went into effect. Michael and his first crew, ever, besides me, brought Gerty to the dock while I packed. I flew to New York for the funeral, and the boys sailed out to sea.

In twenty-eight years of togetherness, this was the farthest apart Michael and I had ever been.

Sitting on my mother’s bed, I learned through a YB3 satellite text that Gerty’s mainsail repair had failed, and she had lost her Starlink connection.

Michael was no longer able to get timely weather forecasts, and WhatsApp calls were out of the question. He felt miserable apart from our family and me, the whole crew was potentially in danger, and my sister was in the next room crying. Zachary, my brother, aunt, and cousins were all en route to Huntington, and all I could think about was Joshua, holding my mother’s hand while she took her last breath.

I texted Glen and Philippe’s emergency contacts. I called Francesco and Yuka (SVOroboro). Can you help? … Yes. 

The funeral was on Thursday (day 3). Michael and Glen had come down with an illness. By Friday night (day 4), I couldn’t get out of bed. I was shivering with cough and cold, while watching the snow fall outside. Michael was sweating out his fever in the tropical heat, surrounded by blue on all sides.  

Week 3

Michael found the chocolate bars and handed them out to his crew, and we were able to talk with horse voices through a poor connection in cyberspace. There was a flicker of light in the dark, turbulent sadness.

Then, the sky turned gray again. There were squalls on the horizon, and my mother’s things, her furniture and photos, were tossed around in the messy water for days.

When Gerty sailed by Horizon Deep (35,433 feet deep), I decided to visit my Dad. Maybe it would be sunny with him for a bit, on the other side of that enormous front. Gerty skimmed the northern edge of it while I slept in Florida, and the boys made it through unscathed. 

Glen caught a mahi, and Philippe cooked up a feast while I was on the plane to San Francisco and Joshua. Finally, Joshua. I could feel his resilience when we hugged. He was there when she died, and he was sure he was where he was supposed to be. The Bay Area redwoods loomed over us as we hiked, and Gerty had less than five hundred nautical miles to go. It was an upwind slog—slam, bounce, toss, and jolt.

A memorial will be held next boreal summer. Until then, there will be stories upon stories, photos, and momentos to share. There will be smells, like the scent of her nightgown that I kept. There will be sounds, like the melody of her piano playing. There will be flavors, like her warm apple pie and chicken soup. And in the spirit of my Mom, there will be travel to far-off, wonderful places, like New Zealand, forevermore.

Last Remarks

A poem for Mom, written by her father, Philip Strax

My world is mostly rosy red

My days are bright and gay

If dew drops sprinkle on my head

They’re part of fun and play

I’ll do my best with all my might

Whatever comes my way

For there is always sunshine bright

Behind the darkest day

For Michael

E aroha ana ahau ki a koe always!