A PLACE CALLED HOME

It felt as if I’d been sitting in the same chair watching the sun come up for a million years. In reality, it had been five.

When my partner Derek and I left San Francisco Bay on our yacht the goal was to reach Hawaii in two weeks. We’d done everything to prepare for a safe trip making sure the engines, electronics, mechanical systems, and navigational equipment were in perfect working condition. The GPS, marine radio, autopilot, and radar had been checked and there was more than enough food and water to last.

We’d been planning the trip on my bucket list for years. When it seemed the right time, we sold our house, auctioned off, or gave away, most of everything we owned, taking only a suitcase of clothes with us.

Derek agreed to the trip because I loved the sea and he loved me. He was everything I hoped for in a partner. It had taken me twenty-four years to confess to my parents that it wasn’t the right woman who hadn’t come along but the right man.

From that day forward, my father never spoke to me about my private life, and my mother always introduced Derek as a long-time family friend. God knew it took every bit of nerve I could gather before I told my family what I knew would break their hearts.

Dad and I had never been close. I was the “chosen” son; the one who would take over the family business. Sharp Management built and managed large shopping centers all over the world.

“Son,” he said one night at the table, “I want to see you in my office after dinner."

My heartbeat quickened as I knew what was about to happen. Dad had waited for this moment since the day I was born.

A lump in my throat the size of Gibraltar, I walked through the open double doors into Dad’s office. The 7200 square foot home came equipped with nannies, maids, cooks, and an occasional butler when Dad hosted parties where everyone who was anyone showed up with trophy wives in tow.

“Sit down,” my father ordered, leaned back in the oversized leather chair behind a massive cherry wood desk.

It felt as if the mile-high ceiling, as well as the wall-to-wall built-in bookcases, were closing in on me.

“It's time to talk about your future,” he started.

I have no idea what my dad said after that as I was rehearsing my rebuttal.

“Jack?” he asked, brusquely. "Are you listening ?”

I could barely breathe. “I want to live my life,” I stammered, “the way I want to."

"Hold on." He leaned forward, his dark eyes staring daggers through me. "Are you telling me you don't want to take over a multi-million dollar business?"

"It's just not who I am, Dad. I hope you under—"

He shot out of his chair and marched to the patio doors with a view of the inground pool, bar, and a dozen or more patio tables sheltered by large umbrellas. “Let me get this straight. You want to struggle living on paycheck to paycheck, never able to support a wife and kids?” He turned around and faced me, his face the color of a turnip. "Go ahead.” He shot an arm toward the door, dismissing me. “Get out.”

"Just remember that when you turn 18," he said while I was attempting to escape, "you’ll never see another dime from me.”

Until I graduated from high school life with Father was pure hell. And it wasn’t his words that made me miserable but the lack of acknowledgment as if I didn’t exist. I was dead to him.

Instead of being the successful son Dad wanted, I became his greatest disappointment.

After graduating from high school, I rented a room near college, worked full-time until I graduated, and landed a job in a not-for-profit organization. I knew it would never pay six figures but I had the satisfaction of knowing I was helping others. I also had everything I needed.

Mom passed two years before Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I visited him often in the nursing home and looked forward to our conversations as he had no idea who I was. He treated me like a long, lost best friend. He'd smile and say, “Now, who are you?” When I told him my name was Jack he’d shake my hand, put a hand down on my shoulder, and say, “Of course. Now I remember. My old buddy, Jack.”

When Dad passed, I was summoned to his lawyer’s office for the reading of the will. I had no idea why. One of my sisters' husbands had taken over the company years ago. And Dad had made it clear his estate would be divided between my two younger sisters.

"And to my son Jack,” I tensed, feeling Dad was about to tell me off from the grave. “I leave the yacht and fifty-thousand dollars.”

I felt dizzy. The only thing I ever wanted from my father was that yacht. I felt closer to Dad realizing he either knew or sensed how much I loved the ocean.

I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh, salty air remembering that night. The night everything changed.

It was our eighth day at sea. Derek and I were on the deck having a glass of wine when suddenly the wind came up. At first, I thought it was coming from the west but soon realized the wind wasn't coming from just one direction. I grabbed the wine bottle and glasses off the table as Derek picked up crab dip and bread.

“Secure everything in the cabin,” I shouted when I flew up the stairs to the helm, praying that what I sensed wasn't happening. My hands trembling, I took out binoculars and searched the dark waters. It didn't take long before I spotted the monster heading straight for us. I’d researched the phenomenon that could happen in seconds, creating vertical walls of frothing water that could measure 100 feet or more.

“Jesus!” I shouted. “Derek!”

I grabbed the wheel, the howling wind sending a warning too late to heed.

“What's happening?’ Derek asked when he reached me.

“Rogue wave.” When I realized the wheel was paralyzed because of strong crosswinds slamming against both sides I let go.

“I don’t know what you're—”

“High winds cause a disturbance in the wave pattern and…" I stopped. "Derek, it’s bad.”

“Hello…hello? Mayday. Mayday!” Derek shouted trying to reach someone on the radio. “No one’s answering.”

"I don't know if we can’t beat this.”

“Nooo,” he cried. “I’m not going to die out—”

I throw my arms around his back and pull him close, feeling his heart pounding against my chest. If we don't make it, I'll see you on the other side. Come on." I grab Derek's hand and tug. "We need to go below."

Fighting tsunami winds, I grip the railing with both hands so as not to be blown away. Inside the cabin, all I see out the windows is angry, swirling water.

The bow shot straight up and I fly backward, my head hitting something hard. Dizzy, I cry out Derek’s name but could barely hear my own voice over the powerful surge of water gushing into the cabin.

Suddenly the yacht spun 90 degrees, and then 180 before doing a complete 360. Disoriented, I grabbed the arm of a chair bolted to the floor, and slowly pulled myself up, finding my toes almost completely numb.

My only chance was to get to the stern and swim my way to the top. Even then, it would take hours, even days, before I might be spotted.

A savage surge of water takes control of the cabin quickly. My mouth submerged, I breath through my nose, grabbing onto anything I find that can help pull me forward.

Just when I feel the planked floor beneath my feet, I hear the long, low wail I’d only heard in movies right before a vessel gives into the battle.

Immediately, I started spinning in somersaults, the buoyant force bearing down on me, sinking me deeper and deeper into the bowels of the sea.

Mother suddenly appears, her sweet smile telling me everything would be alright. And then Father shows up, his empathetic eyes meeting mine.

My lungs burn. I am too weak too fight.

I blink open my eyes and see a cloudless blue sky above me. I sit up straight, finding I'm on the bow of the yacht. Confused, I touch my arm, my cheek, the top of my head. Am I dreaming?

To the east, I see a cruise ship. Below, the water is clear and calm.

Everything looks exactly as it did before the storm hit; no water damage and nothing out of place. Inside the cabin, the bed is made and dishes and glasses inside cupboards are perfectly aligned.

“Derek?” I call out. “Derek?”

"I'm here," I heard and turned.

"Thank, God." I shake my head, and press my forehead into his briefly. "I had the damndest dream. I must have had a lot to drink last night because I evidently fell asleep on—”

"We need to talk," Derek interrupted.

Just then I notice a boat coming toward us and, as always, I stretch my arm above my head and wave.

The yacht is no more than fifty to seventy-five feet away and yet when I shout out "hello" to the ten or twelve passengers on board no one responds.

"What the hell? Am I invisible?"

Derek sat down on a lounge chair and looked up at me. "You don't know.”

I sit down next to him. "Know what?"

"Jack," he says in a serious tone. "We didn't make it."

I stare at him, wondering what the hell he's talking about.

"Nobody can see us, " Derek said. “I woke up before you, probably because I died first. Just like you I had no idea what was going on."

"Stop," I say adamantly. I stand, walk a few steps away, and turn back around. "You're freaking me out. I must have talked in my sleep last night and you heard me. This isn’t funny, Derek. If you keep talking nonsense," I teased, "I might have to commit you when we get home.”

"This is home." Derek stood. "Follow me."

"I'll play," I respond sarcastically.

He leads me through the cabin, into the bathroom, and then nods at the mirror. "Take a peek."

"You want me to look at myself?"

"Please."

"I stand at the sink and look straight ahead. Perplexed, I lean in closer, and then face Derek. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"You can't see yourself because one can see a ghost."

After I calmed down, Derek and I talked through the night.

"You think we'll be on the yacht like forever?" I ask.

"I think we spend eternity where we are the happiest."

If what Derek says is true, afterlife is nothing like I was taught growing up. I'd never read about people who died and, by some stroke of luck, came back to life who told stories about waking up in their 'happy place.'"

Derek made a good point, however. He said maybe they weren't gone long enough to find out where they'd end up.

I began to realize everything I used to care about no longer mattered. I didn't have the desire to accomplish anything more than I’d already achieved. There wasn't anything pressing I wanted to see or experience before I died, and no longer feared the unknown. For the first time, I was at peace.

Time meant nothing. Derek and I had forever to share our thoughts, reminisce, and dance beneath the stars.

And now, with every yacht that passes, every ship I watch slowly disappear into the horizon, I silently thank each one for visiting the place I will forever call home.