Cres & my father
This is sort of an extension of the previous post, but ended up being too much to just add at the end. The memory of my dad is always linked to Cres for several reasons. He seems to have been the driving force behind us getting a house there (my mother will correct me if I'm wrong) and then the driving force behind us going there all the time (because he loved it so much) and then the driving force behind buying a boat and then a new boat about every decade or so (to my mother's continuous shock and dismay) and then driving us (and a good portion of my relatives) to all the beaches within - for the current sized boat - acceptable distance.
My father bought the fourth and last boat last summer. It was the biggest and fastest yet. I don't think anyone of us would have imagined him owning something like this. When he decided to get it (Against my mother's wishes of course, by now this was a tradition and part of the pricetag.) he was already pretty sick. It was probably not a smart move for a 70-year-old man without a stomach and a shaky immune system, because having a boat is not exactly like having car. There is so much involved. Getting it ready, prepping the motor... not to mention the hassle when your brand new boat ist delivered undrivable because of shoddy manufacturing. But my father loved this stuff. Messing with the boat and "improving" it, spending days covered in sticky polyester and motor oil and lugging around rocks on rickety homemade dollys was what made him happy. He was energized by the thought of how many people would take a trip on his boat and how happy they would be and how he was going to make all that happen, with his own hands! Even if it killed him! And sadly... some might say it did, in part at least. I don't think so.
Sometimes in life there's a point where things can't be fixed anymore one way or another and your choices are between keeping health or keeping joy. You can have one or the other and there is no right answer in what is the right thing to do. Maybe lugging around rocks sped up my dad's physical decline. But maybe not doing it would have meant losing the one thing that he could always count on making him happy.
We rode on the boat this year. All his big plans did pan out in the end and while he wasn't here to drive it, he was still very much present. I don't think I'll ever be able to ride that boat without a slight chill down my spine. But I don't want it any other way.
Posted at 02:56 PM on August 27, 2009
Oh, Dinka. Thank you for sharing this. What a beautiful and poignant memoir. I feel like I know a little more about you and your dad. What you've written here is really moving, and I agree about doing what makes you happy and staying active. Thanks again.
My eyes are stinging with tears. He would have been very glad, I'm sure to know that you enjoyed his boat. Thanks for sharing again.
I completely agree with you.
Sometimes you just have to keep doing what makes you happy because if you have nothing to live for, why keep going at all?
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story/memory.