There was no doubt that Carol was in serious trouble but there was no way we could know that the Fourth of July weekend would be her last voyage aboard our beautiful little ship Lastdance.   A month earlier Carol made our annual sail to Inner Harbor in Baltimore over the Memorial Day weekend but it was tough on her.  She couldn’t go ashore or flit among the rafted boats to socialize as she had in the past but it was good for her to get out on the water among friends after a winter of dibilitating chemo and monthly visits to Sloan-Kettering hospital.

 

Friends at our marina gathered around as I pushed her wheelchair down the dock and as if their well meaning comments gave her strength, she got out of the wheelchair and boarded Lastdance under her own power.  She cried. I asked why.  She said she was just so happy to be back on our little ship and although she had previously wanted to sail with our friends to St Michael’s for the holiday weekend, she now asked if we could go to Annapolis alone.

 

Carol loved the Chesapeake and the times when Lastdance was the only boat in an anchorage.  On such nights we’d lower the bimini and share intimate evenings in our cockpit under a canopy of stars, sip wine and talk for hours.  But it was Annapolis she loved most and depending on her mood, we might observe the town from a mooring in the harbor or be in the thick of things by bringing Lastdance to City Dock for a night along the seawall.  From there we could dine and pub crawl the evening away, then watch tourist and locals alike, as they strolled the bustling waterfront.  Mooring or seawall, Carol was always as excited about entering Annapolis harbor as she was the very first time we called there in 1994 and this 2006 Forth of July weekend was no different.

 

After a quiet sail across the bay, I doused our sails and motored toward the Naval Academy.  We “raced” several other boats for what we were sure would be the very last mooring or slip.  “Hurry” she said, “I don’t see any open moorings.”  I smiled as I opened the throttle and thought even now, with her body ravaged by chemo and steroids, she is so beautiful, so sensual, yet so childlike in her excitement over a place she has been to countless times before. 

 

We rounded Sycamore point it became evident that our race wasn’t necessary as there were many open moorings.  Knowing what her answer would be, I asked which one she wanted to take.  She replied, “Can we check out the seawall for an open slip.”  I smiled and continued motoring past the moorings and entered Market Slip and as we went by Pussers, it appeared that every slip was taken.  She was clearly disappointed but we continued toward the turning basin and once past a large cruiser, we saw an open slip along the wall and had Lastdance docked and secured in short order.  Carol was elated and hugged me as if I had just fought off 10,000 Persians at Thermopylae. 

 

Sadly, Carol never left the boat.  She was just too weak and tired but it didn’t diminish her enthusiasm for the sights and sounds of this historic town.  She pointed out lean looking midshipmen in crisp white uniforms and said “I remember when you looked like that,” then took my hand and kissed my lips and cried.  Where we once ate every meal ashore, we now took all of our meals aboard Lastdance as we watched fireworks and listened to the Naval Academy band and she feel asleep in my arms and I held her like that and cried for almost an hour before taking her below to our bed.  

 

We departed the next morning with the sun glistening off the dome of the Naval Academy chapel, and it broke my heart to know that Carol would probably never be back. The wind was twelve knots from the northwest. It would have made for a good but lengthy sail around the south end of Kent Island but her fatigue was evident and I was eager to get her home, so I headed north under power. “Why aren't you raising the sails?” She asked. I told her that sailing around Bloody Point would take too long and I didn't want to spend the day tacking to Kent Point against a north wind because it would be uncomfortable for her. She simply said, “Please Ron, I'd really like to sail today.” Knowing that the unspoken part of her reply was that she would probably never get to sail again, I choked back tears and could say nothing more than, “Okay Princess, we’ll sail.”

 

As we sailed down the bay, I held her in my arms with only the sounds of the wind and waves. Suddenly, Carol sat bolt upright and broke our tranquility by asking, “What's that noise?” After all the years of sailing together and my endless pleadings with her that she should be specific when questioning noises and not just say what's that noise, here she was, doing again. “What noise?” I snapped and was immediately sorry for losing my patience. Not to be reprimanded so abruptly, she said, “Okay, the noise that doesn't sound like our dinghy slapping against waves as we tow it….that noise, smart ass!” Oh shit, I'd done it again! I looked astern; sure enough our dinghy was gone.

As tired as she was she took the helm while I scanned the miles of empty bay behind us with binoculars. “There it is, way back there, can you come about while I'll tend the jib?” Without answering me directly, she called out, “Hard a'lee,” then put the helm hard over as she brought Lastdance smartly about. A moment later she had us close-hauled and making almost seven knots back up the bay. I got the boat hook and positioned myself at the rail and asked her if she was okay as we rapidly approached the dinghy. She told me she was fine, and that she'd bring us right alongside it. She laughed and said, “Just get the damn dink on the first try.”

 

In an instant, she had us right on it. As it bumped gently down our hull, I snagged it with the boathook and was pulling on the painter like mad to cleat it before it became taught. “Got it!” I shouted as I put the boat hook down and finished securing the painter. I said, “I wonder how it came loose?” but I knew full well our dinghy had come undone several times in the past, and it was sloppy knot tying on my part that had been the cause and I was somewhat sheepish about it. My introspection was jolted by her sweet voice calling out softly, “Stand by to jibe Baby.” I repeated her command and an instant later she bellowed, “Jibe ho,” and she brought our little ship smoothly through the maneuver. The boom swung to leeward with a gentle jolt and I trimmed the main, then the jib until we were once again running down the bay.  

I could see she was exhausted and before taking over the helm, I brought up a blanket for her.  A moment later she was wrapped warmly and snuggled back in my arms as I steered a course for home.  I kissed her lips and she opened her eyes and I could see tears forming and she said, “Who will listen for noises and look after you when I’m gone.”  I looked at her as tears welled up in my own eyes and I felt a terrible overwhelming sadness but through my tears I said, “You will Carol, you will.” She patted my hand and then with both of us silent in the knowledge that this would probably be her last sail, we glided down the bay with all three sails spread like the wings of an angel taking her home.  

Carol died 4 months later. Sailing and life will never be the same and nothing will ever fill the empty place in my heart and Lastdance’s cockpit that was occupied by her for so many years.  Sail on, Carol…Sail on!