learning to sail

The invitation came from an almost-stranger, a friend of a friend.  Would you like to come sailing, she asked; I didn't hesitate.


Next day, once underway, the captain spoke to me.  I'm sorry, he said; I heard about your loss. 


It is hard, I said.  But at the moment, it didn't feel hard.  I was having too much fun.


You're good, he said.  You should take sailing lessons, then you can crew.


That sounded like a possible idea.  Anything that could blow open another layer of pain was worth considering.


But I also knew that every time a surge of joy came, another layer of grief would be uncovered, an inevitable law of balancing emotions.


And the grief did come, that evening.  While standing with Thundercat in the driveway, I saw Rich, vivid but unreal, walking up the driveway, wearing his brown Rockports, pressed tan chinos, blue shirt, striped tie, blue braces.


He's never coming home, I said to Thunder.  He's never coming home, is he?


Thunder scratched behind his right ear.  


I cried.


Candace