The Rowboat

When you died I had already cried so much. When you finally left me all alone I didn’t have any emotion left to give. I made all the right noises. I actually tried to squeeze out a few tears. But I couldn’t. I talked to the family, to the funeral home, to the care home staff. But I wasn’t really there. 

In my head I see a rowboat. I’m sitting in it with no oars, no paddle. When I look down there’s the deep, wide ocean under me. I’m not about to jump into that abyss. So I sit. Day after day. Quietly going about my business. Quietly still living. 

A bird comes. I see a dove. He sits on the bow of the boat and stares at me. I stare back. What are you doing here, I silently ask. Where did you come from? Where are you going?

The bird stays with me. Many days and many nights. I get used to him. I talk to him a lot. But I don’t cry. 

Then one day the bird flies away. Keening, I call “wait! Where are you going? I still need you! I’m not ready for you to go.”

I watch it fly into the distance and disappear. 

I look down. The rowboat I’m sitting in is now on a shallow lake. I can see the clear bottom. Surprised, I reach my hand down and touch the water. I pull my hand back, study it, & watch the drops from my fingers. But still, I don’t dive in. I’m not ready to swim. 

Then there’s a fish. Swimming alongside my boat, he looks up at me and his fins sparkle like rainbows on water. We drift. The fish hangs out for awhile. I sleep. 

When I awake the fish has gone but now my boat is in just a small pool of water. I am touching the bottom. I contemplate. I finally stand up. I step out of the boat. I wade thru the water to dry land. 

And I cry.