My friends and family have always known that I can be awakened in the middle of the night, if necessary. Not only will I never be troubled by the intrusion, but I’m quite functional. That’s because I see myself as “on duty” 24/7.
Perhaps now you can understand the joy and utter relief that filled my being when our 19-year-old son leaned over my side of the bed and announced, at 2:38 Tuesday morning, “Hi Mom. I’m home.” To see those young, strong arms. A fully developed beard. And to touch his thick, cropped hair. I ushered the power of heaven not to cry.
To understand my relief is to learn about a torrent of events that began with a call from Dan at the end of spring quarter in early June, announcing that he had secured a job for the summer aboard an Alaskan fishing tender. A college friend, who had experience working on boats of all kinds each summer, had forwarded his name to tender boat captains. “It’s NOT like Deadliest Catch,” I was assured.
Tenders anchor offshore and serve as floating service stations to fishing boats in this manner: Once a fishing boat is filled with fish, the catch is weighed and off loaded onto a tender. Fuel or food stuffs can also be purchased. When a tender is filled it travels to off load the fish at a processing plant on the coast. Supplies can be restocked and the boat heads back to provide their services, once again to those fishing.
The men in my life were immediately enticed by the romance of adventure. And once I was assured there would be little physical danger, I was on board with the plan. A portion of his potential earnings would serve as fun money. The bulk would go into long-term savings for graduate school. The more I considered the plan, the more I understood that the contributions of people and varied experiences, poured into our son for 19 years, would be utilized this summer. He was ready.
I privately struggled, however. We are a family that texts and calls throughout the day. Some of us are geographically separated, but we are close at heart and walk through this life together. Once our young fisherman ventured north, his cellphone signal disappeared on the boat. And when the whistle sounds for the start of a season, it’s a mad dash to get fish. Big money is on the line. Sleep and hand holding is not part of that world.
Dan worked a month in Alaska with only one two-minute call, made from a shipboard satellite phone. Like any Christian mom, I prayed for his safety and kept busy so I’d not think too hard about missing him and wondering about life on the tender. Then came a dream late last week and my vivid recollection of its plot: Dan arrived home with little warning. The captain, upon throwing his medication overboard in a fit of rage, became mentally troubled and verbally abusive. Most of the crew chose to return home mid season.
That is precisely what happened. Next week, I’ll share the lessons learned.
Reach Klope at faithfulliving@hotmail.com.
