A Gift from the River

My sister and I spent last Saturday afternoon kayaking on the water we used to sail, row, and paddle when we were quite young: Middle River, Dark Head Cove, and the water that joins them together and then flows off to the Chesapeake. Although we hadn't done this trip in many years, of all the things that connect Martha and me, this water remains one of our strongest bonds.

That morning, I had informed my Dad about my recent cancer diagnosis. I watched his eyes tear up and listened to his voice begin to quiver. (My Dad doesn't cry. I'm not sure he knows how.) I told him that the prognosis was excellent and that I had complete confidence in the medical persons and facilities that would take me through my treatment. He smiled at me and told me, "I'm still praying for you."

Martha and I took him to lunch, then drove him home and set out for the water.

As we paddled about, we would stop and reminisce about events that had happened to us at this location or that. Sailing in the summer, ice skating in the winter. Stories long forgotten of friends and family surfaced as the afternoon wore on.

We were amazed at the variety of birdlife which now inhabits these familiar waterways: several flocks of terns (which seem to be taking over for the once-ubiquitous herring gulls), a night heron resting high in a tree, a pair of nesting bald eagles. All this was new, unexpected, and most very welcome!

As we paddled, we picked up the trash that floated in the water -- a soda can here, an unidentifiable piece of plastic there -- and put them in the bottom of our boats. We do this with a strong sense of obligation: the water has done so much for us, this is the least we can do in return.

Our time on the water was drawing to a close and we started heading back to our launch site. Looking ahead, I saw some small, whitish thing bobbing in the water, and I got ready to haul it aboard to add to the trash pile I had collected. But it wasn't trash.

It was a votive candle. That looked like it had been lit exactly once. Hardly trash, the candle felt like a gift from the river. An assurance that, not only did I have many friends and family thinking good thoughts about me, praying for me, but now I had my boyhood river giving me a sign, a gift, that all would be well.