“I TOOK A ROWBOAT”(George Petrie) “I TOOK A ROWBOAT”
GEORGE PETRIE

He was 28 years old when he, his wife and their 10 year old daughter went to their house at the lake. Every chance they had they would go there, usually every weekend and certainly every vacation. They had owned the small property since shortly after they married and it was, as they would refer to it, their “slice of heaven”.

It was just a small cabin but it sat on one of the most beautiful lakes in the state of Maine. Surrounded by giant fir trees it was a perfect spot to relax, swim and commune with nature. The wind seemed to always “hum” through the trees and the birds would celebrate the arrival of each day with their warbled greetings.

Winter time was even just as welcoming and the deer, raccoons, and even an occasional bear would saunter up close to see if anyone had left any “treats” out for them. Smoke pluming from the chimney seemed to be their signal that someone was “home” and there might be a snack placed out by the feeders.

In the spring the wildflowers would bloom and suddenly nature took out her brush and announced that summer was coming. The ice and snow would melt and the days would get longer. Boats would appear on the lake as more and more people came to enjoy this bucolic spot.

He prepared the place for summer, raking back some of the leaves, cleaning out the gutters and putting their small boat back in the water. It was just a small fishing boat but it was all they needed to enjoy many hours on the lake. Fishing was something they didn’t do much of since neither of them liked the idea of reeling in a fish, fileting it live and then plopping it in a frying pan later. They used to laugh at the fact that their freezer was always stocked with some frozen fish sticks, right from the local grocery store. Both of them would chuckle and say that it was so much better this way! No eyes staring back at them! As far as their daughter was concerned, the one time that they did try with a rod and reel, their daughter immediately decided that putting a live worm on a hook was not her idea of fun. When she found out that fish ate worms she wouldn’t even eat the fish sticks!!

All that aside, cruising around the lake in the small boat was always an adventure. It was fun to watch the people water skiing, swimming, and there was always a neighbor to visit, simply by pulling up to their dock.
Perhaps the nicest thing about the place was that there were always kids around for their daughter to play and interact with. These were kids from all over different places and a group of special friends in a special place. These weren’t the same kids that you saw every day at school so whenever they were at the lake there were all kinds of new stories and adventures to talk about. They giggled and laughed the way kids did but they seemed to have a special bond since they knew that they were “part time” friends in their getaway world at the lake.

The aluminum fishing boat had a 35 horse power motor. Nothing fancy as far as power boats go but it certainly could provide a quick and efficient way around the lake. Boating rules had been established for the grown-ups and the kids alike. Everyone was required to wear a flotation device and, even though the older kids were allowed to chaperone the younger ones, they knew what their responsibilities were regarding safety. Most of the kids were excellent swimmers since their lives revolved around the water from the time they were very young.

He was 28 years old when all of the rules about boating and swimming safety suddenly meant nothing. No one really ever did find out exactly what went wrong. The authorities knew that the other boat was speeding but there was no alcohol and no drugs involved. The driver simply said he didn’t see the kids in the “little aluminum boat”. He was pulling a skier and probably paying more attention to the rear of his own boat.

The “little aluminum boat” was sliced in half and its’ passengers probably died instantly.

There were three passengers; his wife, his daughter and her little friend. Rescue was almost immediate as everyone rushed to the scene but their injuries were too severe for anyone to change the outcome.
Suddenly this idyllic little place was hammered by one of life’s worst blows. It was as though this beautiful, serene spot had suddenly been inhabited by a monster of emotions too painful to even imagine. One wondered if even the birds were silent or if the trees were bent over from the wind or from the grief.

He was 28 years old when it happened and now he was 74. The cabin had been sold shortly after the accident. He plodded along through life never understanding or accepting what had happened. There were few moments of real happiness and certainly fewer moments without some form of regret. Anger, denial, but never acceptance, and the lines etched on his face looked as though they had been carefully carved by years of torment.

Most of his life, since that day, had been spent with his only companion - a bottle of whiskey. He would work a few days, here and there, in order to have a place to stay and a glass to fill. The engineering degree was so many, many years and so many, many tears ago. None of that mattered, and instead of praying, like they used to, he would curse the life that he was forced to live and curse as weakness his inability to put an end to it all. He just wanted to be with them again, wherever they were, but it was taking too long. Life was dragging him along, despite his self-destructive behavior, and refusing to let him go and let go of his grief. Sleep was only temporary. He would wake during the night as though shaken by demons, and during the day the sober moments were painful and the drunken one’s were made worse by the anger and loneliness.

No one ever completely recovers from a loss of a loved one, but some people do manage to go on with their lives and even create new lives for themselves. The scar is always there but they are able, over time, to learn to cope and accept. This was not ever the case for him. He simply could not, or would not allow himself to forget his pain for one moment. It was as though forgetting would betray his love for them. Forgetting would be like acceptance and acceptance would mean betrayal.

He was 74 years old now. For 46 years he had carried this burden (or allowed it to carry him). Day after day just surviving despite not wanting to. Not knowing how many more days he would have to endure and how much more punishment life could make him endure by making him hang around.

Something had eaten away at him, gnawing constantly until now when he was finally reaching what he called “the finish line”. The cancer was inoperable and, by the time it was detected, there was no treatment option. It’s doubtful that he would have put up any kind of fight as he seemed to greet the news that he would soon be departing this earthly suffering.

He knew that we would be providing palliative care, making sure that his physical suffering was minimal, but we all knew that there was nothing we could do to erase the memories that tormented him for so long.

“I told them I would see them again someday” he said to me. He seemed relieved to know that he would be joining them again. “I told them I would be with them again someday, but I had no idea that I would be coming by rowboat! Sometimes I felt as though I only had one oar and wondered if I would ever make it. Wouldn’t you think that life would have considered giving me something faster; even just a pole or a push? I’ve missed them so much but I know they’ll forgive me for taking so long, I just hope they recognize me!”

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