A Moment of Panic

Dearest Rachel –

It never occurred to me to ask Kevin about it to confirm it, but somewhere out there, I had heard that the life of a security guard was 99.9 percent composed of sheer and utter boredom, with that last one-tenth of one percent of time being spent in mortal fear for your life. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if most people’s lives were like that, given or take an order or two of magnitude on that tiny fraction of terror. Apart from those adrenaline junkies that deliberately seek it out, fright isn’t a huge portion of our lives; and most of us are just fine with that (although the monotony can get to one after a while; it’s why I travel, after all).

But not all of those moments of concern are necessarily for oneself and one’s own safety. Yesterday was a case in point; in fact, it rather illustrated the split between fear and boredom in a nutshell.

It so happens that Valdez was the last of the stops on the main underbelly of the state, north of the Gulf of Alaska. From there, we were moving on to the archipelago in the southeast corner of the state. Alaska being the size that it is, this means taking a day at sea to get to our next stop… sort of. We actually stopped en route, in the middle of the Hubbard Glacier field, for several of our number to take a catamaran tour of the glaciers up close.

But since we weren’t part of this particular excursion, we spent most of the day hanging out in the cabin, watching videos (which yes, we could do at home just as easily, but we paid for the room, and we’re perfectly entitled to take advantage of it) and occasionally enjoying the view as the ship lingered among the glaciers.

But while we were doing so, I noticed that the phone on my nightstand had a notification on it; the folks had tried to call mid-afternoon (and, the phone not having been in my pocket, I hadn’t felt the vibration and answered it at the time). Now, it’s not as if we hadn’t called them in the morning; we’d done the usual two attempts on either side of breakfast. Mom had even managed to call back, although using the regular phone rather than WhatsApp, which proved to have spottier reception (she did try again using Dad’s phone and the app later on, which worked out better). So I figured that we had already been in touch for the day.

So what did this mean, that she (and I assumed it was her rather than Dad himself, as he’s too weak and possibly not in sufficient control of his faculties to use the phone on his own) was calling us a second time that day? You’ll understand that I assumed the worst; that he had passed on, and she was trying to notify me about it. I don’t think I could be blamed for suffering a moment of panic as I promptly dialed her back.

However, it turned out that, since it had just been Daniel, Mom and myself talking during the morning, when Dad woke up later in the day and gestured toward the phone, Mom took it to mean that he wanted to hear from us directly; and that’s why she was calling us this second time. He still wasn’t all that intelligible in his utterances, but I could gather from his tone that he was pleased to hear from us again – especially on our own volition, rather than having been called (although admittedly, it was in response to having been called maybe fifteen minutes earlier or so).

Even without being able to understand his words, I was so relieved to actually hear him; I don’t want to be getting that call over the remaining few days that we’re out; worse yet, that we get that call and miss it. I’ve put too much time into being “the good son” to screw it all up now and not be with him when he does go Home. And I know that sounds selfish on my part to even say that – he’s really not going to be paying attention to his surroundings, and those surrounding him, when the moment comes – but it will feel like I’ve failed him at the crucial moment, even if I have gotten his permission to be where I am at the moment. To be at his side when he departs – like we were for you, despite the Covid restrictions at the time (not that you were aware of it) – means something for us, the living; that we did what we could, however limited and feeble that was.

Look, I had originally intended to write about some of the food served aboard the ship, and I’ll probably get around to it soon enough; there’s at least one more sea day while we’re on our way to Vancouver, and I’ve taken pictures to illustrate my story already, anyway. But I have to admit, anything else I might talk about while Dad is on the edge like this – and he is, in a way that he’s never really been before – feels so superficial and pointless in comparison. To consider the momentary and the mundane in the midst of eternity about to sweep over someone; that seems like a case of very misplaced priorities. And yet, it’s all we have when we haven’t experienced the moment ourselves yet – and once we do, we can’t report back about it.

So this is what you get from me for now, honey; feel free to laugh at my superficiality from your side of the veil. But while you’re doing so, please keep an eye on both Daniel and me as well as Dad, and wish us well. We’re clearly going to need it.