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My dad has sailing in his blood. And clearly I didn’t get the ‘sailing DNA’.

Since my dad has gotten worse over the last year or so,  it has taken a huge toll in every aspect of his life.  Including…his passion for sailing.  In the beginning we strongly encouraged him not to go out alone on the boat, now it has gotten to the point where he said he was ‘scared’ to even try and get on it. Seeing something he loves ripped out from under his feet, puts a hole in my i.hate.sailing.  heart.

There has to be a way…something…anything…heck we can put him in a fork lift and lift him over the boat and plop him in.  We needed to get him into his sailboat and let the sun shine down on him, breath the bay air, test out his sea legs, and rock with the wake, on a boat which not so long ago was his life.

We devised a plan…one that involved three very rusty ‘crew members’. We would take the dingy out to the boat ourselves, go through the Eastport draw bridge, navigate the 38 foot Morgan through the busy Annapolis harbour and swing by a dock that he could step on over…somewhat.

We had to do it…for him.

And as the sunset danced on the water and we came back in, I saw his face, and I thought to myself this isn’t so bad…especially if it brings him to a place that he loves.