One of the things I love about cruising is the constant change of our tumbleweed lifestyle. It feels a little like escapism. Let's GO!? SUUUURE!!! We're outta here!! What's around the next bend in the river? The next one? It's exciting. A continuous supply of new places, people and adventures.
But life back home goes on.
This December we were blindsided. Things weren't going all that well on the boat anyway -- an injured back, taking turns with the flu, a run in with a varmint invasion (rat on board!!! Disgusting. We've moved marinas and dealt with it. All good now) -- just a run of bad luck that life hurls sometimes. Unsettling.
Which is the state of mind we were in when we received the call. Jeff's sweet mom had suddenly passed.
It's a reality for cruisers. Far away, events can unfold which will bring you to your knees, making you wish you could morph yourself home in an instant. The worst case scenario.
In our case we fired random clothes into a garbage bag (seemed like a good idea at the time), grabbed our passports, made arrangements with the marina, got a friend to watch the boat... and we were driving within the half hour. Twenty-four hours of adrenaline-driven road time.
The silver lining was, if you search hard enough for one, that we got to spend some time at Christmas around both sides of the family, which we haven't been able to do before. Nice.
So I'd like to borrow this forum for a bit to pay tribute to Jeff's mom and my good friend, Wilma. Anyone who knows Jeff is very acquainted with the mom stories. Wilma. Sharp witted, feisty, strong headed, willing to try almost anything, always full of laughter. I'll miss our lunch dates, long afternoon drives and heartfelt girl talks. Jeff's grief is on a whole other level. His Mom. His root. She was still living in his childhood home.
Watch over us Wilma as we navigate our way through and/or support your four adult children working together to take care of your business; through family bumps, shifts, changes and growth; all the while learning the new reality of finding our way without our Heron matriarch. We already miss your guidance.
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