It is 9 years today since my partner died. That’s a long time, and in some ways my life seems not to have gone very far, whilst in other ways it has changed a lot. We are still in the same house and I am still working from home doing design. On the other hand, my children are no longer children, I’m now interested in spirituality, I no longer take work too seriously, and the three of us have learned survive on our own. Along the way we have learnt how to sail.
My late partner Andy was a world class sailor. Our summer family holidays were mostly spent on the family keeler north of Auckland. My understanding of sailing was basic: I learned on a plastic dinghy on a lake in the UK, where I instructed kayaking for a couple of summers. My main role on these family holidays was provisioning, cooking, making sure the kids didn’t fall overboard, and being yelled at for not knowing what to do. It was glorious though, and I have particularly fond memories of spectacular cliff top walks with Andy and his father John, whilst Granny Leslie entertained our toddler on the beach.
When Andy died, and with John already gone, I wondered if we would ever get to go sailing again. I felt that my kids needed to learn to sail, so one of the first things I did was to send my eldest daughter to sea scouts. She loved every moment of it and was particularly thrilled to finally be allowed to get drenched at the bow without her parents ordering her back to the cockpit.
My own path to sailing was a bit more coincidental. About a year after Andy died, I decided to give internet dating a go. I was not really making sensible decisions yet and ended up with a llama farmer from way down South. He was hilariously funny and incredibly generous, but the children took exception to him, and after a while I realized he was a bit too eccentric, so I called it off. Not really wanting to take no for an answer, he decided that the disapproval of my eldest daughter must be the problem. He decided that if he learnt to sail, he’d be the man. He bought a couple of boats on Trade Me, but soon realized it wasn’t quite as easy as driving a tractor round the paddock. A few months later he called me out of the blue from Blenheim. ‘Can you see anything on your front lawn,’ he said. I couldn’t, but on further inspection discovered a 6m trailer sailer parked on the roadside! Holy Cow! Not really the sort of present you could hide under the bed, I thought. With the help of my bemused neighbours, we got it onto the front lawn, where it stayed for the next 3 months of equinoxial gales. Eventually, one fine summer afternoon, with the help of another neighbour, we got the boat rigged and out on the harbour. At the end of the day we didn’t feel much like dropping the mast and returning it to my lawn, so the obliging patrons of the yacht club bar found us a place in the trailer park and I joined the club.
My first few attempts at sailing her were totally haphazard. I got the keel stuck on the bottom. I got into a tangle of flaying sails and ropes with a novice crew. Then I managed to break the rope that wound the keel up. It was all too much, and I was overwhelmed with being sole charge of my own family, my own business, and now my own boat.
I was considering giving up when a fellow scout parent kindly offered to help. He maintained ships for a living, and miraculously managed to get my boat on the hoist and fix it. Then he offered to help me sail it. Sadly, the one thing he couldn’t fix was his wife, who died a few months later. To cut a long story short, we had 4 years of sailing and companionship: a relationship that took backseat to our respective daughters. It was good while it lasted, but now it’s over. We are both on our feet a bit more and our differences were too many. But the happy result is that I’ve now learned to sail my own boat.
I feel like I’m entering a new phase of my journey now. Perhaps a step up from just getting along, towards becoming more of a leader. Now that my girls are old enough to either accompany me, or be left at home, I am returning to the sort of outdoor adventures that Andy and I used to do together 20 years ago. My trips have not entirely gone to plan and I’m missing his quiet and competent leadership, but I’m learning. I’m learning to back trailers. I’m learning to negotiate hordes of bolshie boaters on the public ramp. I’m learning not to let other people take over my trips and turn them into a gut busting competition against nature. I’m learning to set a gentler pace, and that it’s ok to let others know that’s how it’s going to be. I’m learning to sail my own boat, in my own way.
What have you learned to do, in your own way, without the help of the person you lost?
