Mixed Emotions

For the past week or so I have been watching news stories and searching for updates on the Tote Maritime ship, the SS El Faro. The ship was a roll on/roll off ship that was traveling from Jacksonville FL to Puerto Rico. She departed from Jacksonville early on the morning of Sept. 30, 2015. The Captain knew there was a storm ahead, known as Tropical Storm Joaquin. In less than 2 days, the storm had become a dangerous category 4 hurricane. On the morning of October 2, the ship reported it was taking on water and listing at 15 degrees. That was the last communication. The ship was considered missing, with 33 crew members aboard. There were 28 American men and women on the crew and 5 Polish crewmen.

When the search began, there were hopes of recovering the ship and crew. After a few days of intense searching, the ship was deemed lost at sea, resting approximately 15,000 miles deep in the Caribbean Sea. The US Coast Guard called an official halt to the search for the ship and began an intense rescue operation for survivors.

Although my Merchant Mariner was at home during all this, I had a really rough time dealing with this. Let me clarify that he works a 24 mile stretch of the Savannah River and goes out as far as the sea buoy in his regular work,  and he is seldom out in open seas unless he's taking a tug to the shipyard for repairs. He was, however, in the US Navy aboard the USS Holland and the USS Essex LHD-2 and served in the Persian Gulf enforcing no-fly zones. He's been through typhoons and storms....it isn't an easy life.

However....my man was home. He was home when the ship went missing. He was home when the search changed to a rescue operation. And he was home the night of October 7, when the Coast Guard called an official end to the search for survivors.  He took it all in stride.

Me...however....
That's an entirely different story.

I was a wreck. I prayed....I hoped. I read articles and prayed some more. I prayed for the crew, the rescue teams, the families of those missing....and mariners around the world. But somehow, it just didn't seem to be enough.  My heart was heavy. My brain was spinning. My emotions were flip flopping from thankful (that my man was home) to feeling guilty (that my man was home) . The logical side of me knew that as time went on, the chances of finding survivors lessened. But my heart...oh my heart...it said that miracles happen! These were experienced mariners, with training in water survival and lifeboat use. I know they were trained in this because my husband was as well. I hoped. I prayed. I pleaded with God.

I had a hard time falling asleep. Every night as I closed my eyes I saw dark waves and tumultuous seas. I rolled over and touched my sleeping husband, grateful that he was home and safe but riddled with guilt for the wives and husbands of the El Faro crew who I knew were yearning to do the same with their spouse but were reaching out to an empty side of the bed.

I called several places in Jacksonville, trying to find a way to help by volunteering. We live just 2 hours away....couldn't I help in some way? I'm not a trained counselor or a therapist but couldn't I pour some coffee or  clean something for those working so hard? Couldn't I pick up food or supplies for the families flying in? Couldn't I rock a crying baby while a worried mother paced and prayed? I finally reached someone at Tote Maritime who told me they had plenty of volunteers and didn't need my help.

What is it inside of me that realizes the prayers on my lips are extremely important but keeps my hands wanting to DO something? I want to put boots on the ground. I want to be active. Instead, I pray. And I sing. And I hope.

At sundown on October 7, 2015, the US Coast Guard called off it's search for survivors. I think a little part of me died that day too.

Rest in peace, crew of the SS El Faro. You will not be forgotten.