Coffee, Christ, and Carrot Cake: A Mother’s Day Afloat

May 10

Sailing Solo, But Never Alone: God, Grace, and Garmin

There’s something oddly comforting about waking up before sunrise, shuffling down to the Piney Narrows marina lounge in my flip-flops, and joining the ragtag crew of old salts for our morning “guys only” (and Tiller) coffee clutch. We swap lies about the weather, boat repairs, and which brand of epoxy is God’s gift to fiberglass. It’s not glamorous, but it’s grounding — and in a funny way, it fills some of the space that used to be occupied by quiet conversations over morning coffee with the infamous X.

This morning, like most Sundays, I left Mass and heading to the marina for a pleasant dingy ride to “Desserts First” on the Kent Narrow’s waterway - my new sacred routine — time to let the Mass readings settle in, roll them around in my head, and ask myself how they apply now, in this new season of life. Loss of Donna and the X sharpens your sense of what matters. Faith gives you something solid to hold when the wind picks up.

These days, I’m sailing solo — figuratively and literally. Life as a widower has a way of teaching you things you didn’t know you needed to learn. Besides how to use bleach on dish towels, its learning the difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is peaceful, even sacred. Loneliness is more like a leaky through-hull fitting — manageable for a while, but ignore it too long and you’ll find yourself swamped.

That said… I’m kinda getting used to it…kinda.

Sure, there are a few “features” (cough-cough) I miss from not being in a relationship. Physical closeness. Someone to share the sheets — or steal them. The random foot-touch under the covers that says “I’m here.” And yes, I miss the intimacy that only comes with time and trust — the kind that doesn’t require translation or apps or awkward small talk (let me cough and snicker again). But I’ve got Ohana to prep, a kitchen remodel project with my sons that’s surprisingly therapeutic, and a job running charters for Chronic that keeps me on my toes and in my element.

By the time my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold. No time to lie there wondering who I’d text if I got bored. The boat rocks me to sleep better than any white noise app.

I’ve come to realize that while I may be sailing solo, I’m never truly alone. God’s in the cockpit — even if He doesn’t always take the wheel when I ask. Grace shows up in the details: a friendly dockhand offering a hand with lines, a sunrise that slaps you out of your own head, or a perfectly timed green light on a tough day.

Navigating life post-loss is a bit like coastal sailing without a chartplotter. You can do it by instinct, but it helps to have something — or Someone — keeping you off the rocks.

So yeah, I’m adjusting. I may miss a few “features” (let me cough and smirk one more time) of partnership, but I’ve gained clarity, focus, and a deeper faith. And, bonus, I get all the covers to myself!!

Mother’s Day Afloat: Lessons from the Strongest Women I Know

Mother’s Day hits a little differently when the strongest woman you’ve ever known is no longer here. Donna — or “Kona,” as my Dingy is called her in her honor— wasn’t just my wife, the mother of our boys, and the anchor of our family. She was the quiet kind of badass who made things work, kept things moving, and held it all together while I was out chasing a career, racking up frequent flyer miles, and trying to remember which time zone I was in.

I used to call her from the road, mostly to check in and let her know I was still breathing. This was pre-texting, pre-emoji, pre-anything-easy. One time she picked up and said, “Why are you calling? I’m not one of those insecure wives who needs you to call every night. I got shit to do!”

That was Donna.

She didn’t ask for attention. She made shit happen! The townhouse lost heat one time. She went to Hechinger’s (yes, I just aged myself — shoutout to anyone who still remembers that blue and white signage), set up heaters for the boys and the daycare kids she watched, and only called me so I could have the replacement part ready by the time I got home. Then she helped me troubleshoot it over the phone as there was no youtube for me to reference.

She didn’t wait for rescue. She made a plan, took care of business, and still saved room to laugh. Her voice plays in my head more often than I admit — sometimes as comfort, sometimes as a reality check. The lines I remember her saying often:

“You have no idea how good you have it, I’m so chill compared to most women.”

“If everyone’s laughing, you’re being funny. If you’re the only one laughing, your being obnoxious!”

And of course: “Fat looks good when tan.”

She had grace, grit, and a gift for keeping me humble — especially when I needed it most. She wasn’t flashy, but she was fierce. On days like today, her presence feels just as strong as it did when she was still running the show from the kitchen while I was trying to find my other sock in a Hilton somewhere.

Mother’s Day afloat gives me time to think. Sometimes I wonder what she’d make of all this — me on a boat named Ohana with a dingy named in her honor, navigating the days without her but still with her voice in my head. I like to think she’d be proud. Maybe even a little smug about it. She’d never say it, but I’d catch the smirk and her just watching me sometimes — I’m sure wondering what the heck attracted her to me in the first place?!

And speaking of smirks… I always remember — and often tell people — how Donna liked to celebrate Mother’s Day. Her place to go? Hooters! Yep, you read that right.

Her logic was bulletproof:

No lines (I mean, who takes their mother to Hooters on Mother’s Day?)
They served all kinds of steamed seafood apps that she loved and were low calorie.
They served her Coors Lite and her Pinot white wine.
And best of all, she (and I) was thoroughly entertained by the waitresses in skimpy outfits making our boys all squirmy and nervous. We’d egg them on just to watch the boys squirm harder.

Afterwards, we’d go on a mission to find her the “ultimate carrot cake.” It had to be carrot cake — not spice cake — with no raisins and real cream cheese frosting. I think it was Boston Market that eventually passed the test.

That was Donna — irreverent, sharp, hilarious, and unlike the women I have dated since her, entirely unbothered by what anyone else thought. She made her own rules, especially when it came to joy.

Happy Mother’s Day, to my buddy, long-time friend, later my wife - Donna. You were — and always will be — one hell of a woman.