the way things come to be, sometimes.

Everyone has a sob story. They're not meant for pain or pity, but rather for a sharing of truth in this path of humanness. This is one of mine.

There are many a thing my father taught me -- like the value of wearing overalls, leaving your doors open to whomever might come knocking and the love of playing an instrument until your fingers are raw. He encouraged the importance of story telling and how to throw a tomahawk, rolling biscuits and brewing a REAL cup o' joe. He'd show me the footwork of a dance standing atop his feet and how to hold my breath underwater grasping his shoulders.

Almost three years ago, I lost my father to a foreign invader, watching him drown gracefully in the misery of stomach cancer and heartache. And yet I spent most of my life never knowing him at all, barred inside a jail of our own doing. Stubbornness and the pain of the past was too thick and blinding. Laying beside him ashen and strong, I'd find myself wishing for all the things we'd never said since I was 13. Even at 28, holding his hand I felt like a child. Life was still so young inside him and fleeting.

My parents bought a boat before any of us children were born. The Zephyr Feather it is called. And so, a northwest built rendition of an east-coast catboat became our playground as children. We would duck in and out of harbors, feel like pirates, and beach ourselves on sandbars. Toy boats were built to tug behind our wake and nets extended to catch crawdads. Charts were gazed upon like languages unknown and I'd stand behind the helm pretending I knew how to drive. We would journey through locks and pull alongside fueling docks, sitting for hours eating candy and dangling our feet in the water. All are some of my better memories -- the sea coming to us so young.

Growing up, instead of learning forgiveness, I feared letting love between us resume. What I never knew was how strongly that love persisted, paying no mind to fear or pain. It was always there, and still is. Somewhere in his dying, I've learned more about loving without constraint or restriction than in all the days we'd tried before. I like to think we reconciled our differences somewhere, but I can't help but look for him everywhere.

Grief, in its smothering thickness, took joy away from the deepest reaches of myself in ways I felt I'd never gain again. The first time I raised the sail on L'Obsession, that joy came back to me. Sailing connected me to the pieces of my father I'd hidden from so long ago. Now I find myself crossing an ocean, stitching sails and braving storms. I've never felt closer to understanding some part of my father than I do now. And I have only my parents, in the pain of their own journey, to thank. Alongside the company of two hilarious men and one sturdy vessel, life has begun anew.

To the memory of my father and our days upon the Zephyr Feather, this is that story.