Once My Spring is Gone

A large wave crashed against the side of the old wooden boat causing the ship to creep so hard to one side that the crew thought it may turn over.

It was a cold day that had become an even more frigid night. Mother nature didn’t hesitate to rain down on Saint Ivy and her crew regularly, and this night was no exception. The cold rain was only worsened by the droplets the crashing waves caused and the icy humidity of the sea.

As the crew typically did on long, stormy, wintery nights like this, they huddled around the tiny flame of a lantern in their living quarters. Here is where they would entertain each other with sea-faring stories over drinks to pass the time and stay as warm as possible with the small amount of heat that could escape from the small light source.

As the exceptionally dreary night rolled on, crew members began retiring to their respective sleeping areas, which were no more than wool hammocks strung from wooden beams that lined the ceiling of The Saint Ivy's belly. With the crew at about half capacity, the tales slowed from exciting and sometimes hilarious stories of time spent in port cities to much more somber stories of grief and failures.

One man spoke of returning from a voyage to an empty home. At first, he thought his wife had left him and taken their children with her, but going through his house, he realized that none of their worldly possessions were missing. Through a small amount of investigation, he was able to find out through word of mouth that, in his absence, his family had begun coughing blood and eventually fell ill to the point of no return. He’d visit their grave each year on the anniversary of his and his wife’s wedding to apologize to her for ever leaving.

Another man spoke of a childhood friend that he’d been employed with at a time. They spent most of their young adulthood sailing the seas and seeing the world and its beauties. They'd spend the evenings staying up late, drinking, and gambling in their quarters, and on one such occasion, the man’s friend excused himself to the restroom after losing quite a bit of money and never returned.

The man never knew if his friend had made a terrible drunken decision or if he’d lost his balance, but he knew he’d never see him again.

Of course, there's only so much sorrow and self-pity one can take when being stuck with thousands of the night air's cold needles, which, thanks to the humidity, have no issue penetrating tattered clothes. Eddard had had enough. He wouldn't continue sitting idly as the men he’d become friends with drank themselves into an ever-deepening pit of despair.

"Listen up," Eddard said, "I've got three stories to tell, and after that, you drunk idiots need to take your asses to bed." He'd bargain with the men as if they were children begging for one more story before their mothers and fathers put them to sleep.

"Well, go on then, tell us your first one, papa," one man said in a condescending tone to mock Eddard for speaking up at all.

The truth is, as poorly as the men had felt, the depths of sorrow have an ability to pull you in farther and farther until there’s nothing left. They didn’t want to feel bad, but they’d reached a point where they didn’t want to feel good either, and they certainly didn’t want to be convinced to feel good by someone younger and less experienced.

The men were confident that Eddard's pain didn't cut as deep as their own because of his youthful naivety and that once time had run its course, he would be as lowly and miserable as the rest of them. In time, he too would be beaten down by the one genuinely inescapable prison master - an unforgiving and unrelenting torturer who would murder your loved ones, steal your beauty, and rob your joy to break your soul until you begged for each breath to be your last.

Eddard was well aware of how his crewmates thought and felt about him and his usually optimistic attitude; they'd often make snide remarks in passing, saying things like "tell me that when you're my age" or "you'll find out one day," which were apparent digs of character and envy only thinly disguised as jokes.

"This first story ought to cheer you up at least a little bit," Eddard stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

He began a lengthy story about a man who'd sailed all of the known world. Sailing had been his entire life, and he'd found it both enthralling and fulfilling. He'd braved the roughest oceans, met indigenous people of every walk of life imaginable, and spent months at a time letting their different cultures and traditions consume him.

Though the man had conquered beasts of land and sea and was as happy as he could think possible, he’d always felt a longing for something but just wasn’t ever quite sure what it was. In between voyages, he had been invited to a dinner party to rub elbows with some of the most influential people in his town; it was there that he’d met his future wife.

The two immediately were inseparable. They overstayed their welcome and talked until their hosts eventually kicked them out the night they'd met. It wasn't long before they'd found themselves standing in front of a priest and tying the knot.

Once again, the man was as happy as he'd ever been able to imagine; his wife was beautiful, loving, and kind, but still, something felt as if it were missing. It wasn’t until his wife was pregnant that he’d been able to realize what he’d been searching for.

He loved his life sailing the world, and he'd loved his wife dearly, but nothing could compare to the flood of joyous emotion brought upon him by seeing his first-born son come into this world. After his wife finished birthing the small blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby boy, he sat with his son in his arms for hours. He stared with true love and utter disbelief at what he'd created.

There was nothing the man could’ve done, no ocean he could navigate, no land he could traverse, no beast he could tame, no person he could meet that would ever be able to have a grapple of his heart. As the man looked down upon his newly born son, he wept.

He didn’t cry tears of sorrow but instead cried at all of the endless possibilities he'd created. He cried for the beauty and love he knew his son would bring to the world and for the rippling change that would forever be made because of his son's existence.

As Eddard told the story, he could feel himself become emotional, and though he attempted to hide his vulnerability, he could feel his eyes well slightly. He was relieved to realize that the story had also impacted his crewmates, most of whom the story had the same effect on, minus one or two stoic individuals or others who had broken down in tears.

Though the crew at first hadn't wanted to be told these stories by Eddard, he was starting to feel as if he was winning them over in a battle for suspended disbelief. Finally, clearing his throat of any rasp or emotion, Eddard stated, "Well, that's the first one; on to the next."

He was apprehensive about seeing the crew's reaction to his proclamation but was pleased to see that they sat patiently awaiting the next tale.

Eddard began telling them about a lowly man who'd spent most of his life in filth. He was orphaned by age eight, which seemed just old enough to handle living on the streets, but not really old enough to remember much of his life before.

At times, especially when the night air of the city was cold, he'd try to remember his mother. She was the only family he'd ever really know, though he had difficulty recalling what she looked like or how she sounded. Typically, these sessions of trying to recall the past were fruitless and would only result in him falling asleep before he’d intended.

However, after falling asleep from being in a meditative-like state, he'd always have a very similar dream. He'd dream that he was on a dreary and dilapidated dock at the edge of the cold ocean. There wasn't ever anyone around. If he looked back to the land, it was covered in a thick fog that his vision couldn't penetrate. When he'd look to the sea, he'd only see a body of water iced with endless white-capped waves.

He would scream out "HELLO?" in his dreams, hoping that anyone would answer because he never knew where he was or how he'd gotten there. After finally giving up hope on anyone returning his call, eventually, he'd see the faint outline of a woman struggling in the water. He'd call to her, but she never could answer him in her struggle.

He would dive into the ocean braving the cold and rough water as it chopped against his arms and face. Once he got to the woman in the water, she was gone. He didn’t know if she’d drowned or if she was ever there at all. Then he’d wake up.

The constant of these dreams in his life led him to have a somewhat fantastical obsession with the ocean, so he became a fisherman. He worked long hours on ships until he eventually had enough money saved and a group of coworkers to go in together on their own fishing boat.

He never let the ownership of a boat get in the way of his work ethic or love of the sea, and at times he put in more hours than he ever had when he’d worked for someone else. After work, he’d stand on the edge of the dock for hours on end, remembering the woman he’d never been able to rescue in his dreams.

His employees and co-owners would approach him when they first noticed his habit, but eventually, they let it go. That was just him being him. It's no cause for alarm, they’d say. However, they’d always wonder what he was looking for at the end of that dock.

The man was getting older, and there wasn't much he could do on the boat anymore. Fishing was a backbreaking game made for young men, not men pushing forty-year-olds who'd been doing it for years. He knew there wasn't much time left in his career being on the boat.

Perhaps being lost in the thought of mortality or reminiscing over a long career was why, but for some reason, the man didn't take the time to look at the dock the day it happened.

He’d gotten off work, gotten off the boat, and began walking to land on the dock when he heard, “HELP!” from the ocean.

He rushed to the edge of the dock, and as he did, he saw a woman floating on top of a piece of wood being pushed every which way by rogue waves. Without hesitation, the man leaped into the water and began swimming as fast as his body would allow toward the woman in distress.

It wasn’t like his dreams. But, this time, he was able to get to the woman and swim her piece of wood back to shore, where he was met by his fellow crewmates who'd helped him get her out of the water and to a doctor for emergency care.

She'd had a difficult time and slept for no less than a week straight. The man stayed with her, forgoing his coveted time on his ship and with his crew. He'd watch her chest move up and down as she breathed laboriously. Each time she coughed, he would stop breathing in anticipation, hoping that she was okay.

By the time she’d awoken, the man felt like he’d known her for a decade though he obviously didn’t know her at all. She couldn’t remember who she was or where she came from, but he offered a helping hand to get reacquainted with daily life.

He didn't have any expectations of romance, but life had plans for the two of them. They'd go on to marry within a year and live long lives with the small fortune he'd compiled from his business.

Finishing his story, Eddard stated, "sometimes good things wait until you aren't looking to happen."

He knew and could feel that this story didn't resonate with his crewmates as the first one had. Maybe the men didn't appreciate the romance of the tale, or perhaps he'd gotten too cocky by their loving his first one. Whatever it was – it didn't matter. Eddard had one more tale for the men, and he’d make sure it blew them away.

Without too much hesitation, Eddard dove into his third and final story in an attempt to not lose the interest or patience of his friends.

He began telling a story of an elderly woman. She was once a beautiful force to be reckoned with and was pursued by potential lovers and suitors for most of her life.

Though she was beautiful and powerful in her own right, she’d lived a difficult life. Most of her older relatives died during a plague, including her mother and father. She was lucky to be raised by family friends who went out of their way to treat her like family.

Though her adopted parents gave her as much love as they would one of their own children, they weren't wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. There were plenty of nights growing up when she and her adopted siblings went to bed hungry.

By the time she'd turned into a woman, she'd decided to get an education and worked tirelessly to be able to afford books that she would need to improve herself.

Over time, she'd grown into a powerful individual and had found a man who she considered herself lucky to be able to spend the rest of her life with. Eventually, the two settled down, got married, and before they knew it had three children of their own who they devoted their lives to.

Unfortunately, times like these don’t last forever. Her husband became extremely ill and eventually passed away. Once he was gone, she didn’t have a bed to sit beside or a friend to talk to. Her children had become distant in their father’s passing, and she felt like they viewed her as more of a chore or errand than a person.

Though she was lonely, she'd still managed to enjoy herself. She began planting flowers as a hobby, but it became almost a full-time job. She'd study them in different soils, give them varying amounts of water and sun, and experiment in any way she could to find out just the right way to grow a happy and healthy flower.

Once her flowers were fully grown, she’d take them outside and plant them where she could watch them through her window. As she watched her plants, she'd imagine being a flower – she'd be young and beautiful again without a care in the world.

She'd sway in it when the wind blew and feel it through her leaves and petals. She'd enjoy the sun on her body and the rain on her face, and nothing could bother her. She spent years in this imaginary fantasy until it eventually came time for her to move on and rejoin her husband in one form or another.

As she was carried into the hospital, she knew she'd never leave it and feel the grass between her toes again. She'd never feel the sun's warm touch against her skin or the rain's cold drip onto her face. She'd never be young again, and she'd never be able to touch another life.

Before the doctors ever talked to her, she knew that she would be lucky to make it to the next day – her cough was rough, she could feel her eyes sinking into her head, and what little energy she had left was waning.

The woman asked the nurse taking care of her if she would bring her a pen and paper to write one last letter to her children and grandchildren, and the nurse solemnly fulfilled this request.

The old woman’s eyes began to leak, and her wrinkled hands trembled as she wrote.

“Dear loved ones,

I regret to inform you that if you're reading this, my time has come to pass. There's nothing that I wouldn't give to be able to hold your hands in these final moments as I take the most significant and unknown step of my existence. Of course, I sincerely regret that our relationships haven't been as strong in the years since your father's death, but I don't hold that against any of you, and I hope you don't against me either.

Time is a funny thing. The more we avoid it, the faster it seems to find us.

As I lay here, I know that my time is almost gone. However, my heart has never been fuller. I hope that each of you can find peace in your own lives, and if you’re having trouble doing so, please lend an old woman your imagination.

I'm not an old woman; I'm a flower. Once I was nothing but a small pod of limitless potential. However, once I was planted, my options became narrower. I was no longer unlimited potential; after being planted, I became influenced by everything around me. The weather, the sun, the rain, the soil I grew from, the wind, and the grass around me all had a significant effect on what I would become.

In the beginning, the sun was dim, the rain was infrequent, and my soil was toxic; however, I managed to grow still. I opened my petals to the world, allowed my leaves to dance in the wind, and through all the harsh conditions, I eventually managed to find something that I could use to thrive.

My spring was something insurmountably beautiful, and the flowers that came from my own seeds were something I grew with and cherished. Then, in a heartbeat, summer came and went; my leaves grew weaker, and my glow diminished.

Now my spring is gone, my summer has passed, and winter is just around the corner.

I know that I won't feel the sun, wind, or rain next spring. I will no longer be able to dance in the breeze, and bees will no longer visit me. However, I also know the flowers that stemmed from my own petals will thrive, and once they're gone, the flowers that came from their petals will thrive, and so on.

I know I’m not a flower, and I’m scared. However, the position I’m in is one that each and every one of you will eventually face. So I choose to leave my spring behind and embrace the winter though I don't know what may come with it."

As the old woman folded her paper and put it into an envelope, she smiled. She was scared, but this was only the next step of her adventure.

She held the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, a smile never leaving her face.

As Eddard concluded his final story, he looked up to see almost all of the men in stunned silence. They didn't know what to think at first, but they thanked Eddard for the sobering final story

as time moved forward.

The men made their way to their sleeping quarters, easing into their hammocks which rocked back and forth from the ceiling except for Eddard.

He took a few moments to look out upon the sea and allowed the cold rain to pelt him. Then, after a short while, he too made his way to his hammock and tucked himself in for the night; however, he didn't fall asleep immediately.

Eddard rocked back and forth in his hammock and listened to the sounds surrounding him. The boat creaked, the men snored, the wind whistled, the waves crashed, and the rain tapped around him.

He thought of the adventurous man who’d learned to love, the couple brought together through tragedy and fate, and the old woman finding peace and acceptance to leave the world behind.

He didn't know what would come next, but he closed his eyes and hoped that he, too, would feel comfort once his spring was gone.