FAREWELL, KERIANN (the saddest story ever!)

Written by MOM right after DAD died suddenly on Valentine's Day in 1992. When she first wrote it, I read it once, sobbing with tears streaming down my face. And then I put it away for many, many years. It might have been 20 years!!! I just couldn't bear to read it again. Yes I know, no one said life was fair, but this WASN'T FAIR.  

DAD WANTED TO LIVE AND HE TRIED SO HARD!!! 

He followed his heart-healthy diet and tough exercise program perfectly. I've never met anyone else who was so determined and disciplined. So he beat the heart disease and was struck down by acute leukemia. He didn't even know he had leukemia. Heart breaking! And selling the boat, named after my daughter, The Keriann, was just agonizing! SO MUCH PAIN. Once again, MOM came through on her poignant writing showing what an amazingly talented woman she is.  

This is the saddest story I ever read!

FAREWELL, KERIANN 

     There she sat quietly on her trailer at Sylvan, well protected from the elements by her two 12' x 12' blue plastic tarps fastened securely at their grommets by ropes and bungy cords. A few small gashes had been ripped through the tarps by howling winds, but she was still well protected and unharmed. A heap of autumn leaves had gathered on her deck, blown in through the opening at her stern.

Lloyd and Abbie Geertz

     Lloyd and I had brought the Keriann, our twenty-two foot Catalina sailboat, down from Lake Arthur in Moraine State Park last October and had carefully parked her trailer on the lawn at Sylvan Canoe Club in Verona. We had left a few things in the cabin to be used again next year. Then Lloyd had built a wooden structure from which to hang the two huge tarps and had tied them securely to the boat, forming a cozy tent where the Keriann would spend the winter, well protected from the frigid winds, snow, and rain.

     Lloyd felt good about completing the task. He always took good care of the boat. He loved that boat, and he knew how to care for it in all weather, in fresh water, on the road as he trailed it, and, of course, in the water as he sailed it.
     The Keriann was a special friend. It had earned Lloyd's love and respect. He handled it expertly in all kinds of water - high waves, heavy winds, foul weather. He was very much at home with his boat. He was an excellent sailor.

This is Dad on the boat before The Keriann. This boat is The Beagle II.

     He looked forward all winter to the arrival of spring, when he would return to Moraine to ready the boat for its fifth season. He read many books and magazines on sailing, always learning more about it and about the different places we could sail. He hoped some day to sail to the islands in the Caribbean. We loved the Chesapeake Bay and still had many places to explore in it. Each year for the last four years we had spent a week there with a fleet of three or four boats and several good friends, no two trips to the same places. Our trips varied with the winds and with our whims. We enjoyed seeing different parts of the Bay. Before the Keriann we had had the Beagle, a 19-foot boat of less comfort and convenience, which we sailed in the Bay for several years along with our same friends.

The Beagle II with little passengers Shamus and Liam

     Lloyd had talked enthusiastically with our friends about our annual trip this year. His enthusiasm was characteristic. His blue eyes glistened more brightly and his smile was a little broader when he talked about sailing. His tone of voice reflected his spirit.

     We could never have imagined that last year's trip would be our last one. When Lloyd became ill with a cough two days after his birthday dinner at our house on Feb. 9, 1992, with Buff, Aunt Lou, David, Deby, Shamus, Liam, Erin, Lindsay, John, Bob, Tracy, Justin, and me, nobody could have guessed that three days later he'd be rushed to the hospital emergency room, where doctors would be  

unable to save his life despite all their efforts. 

His untimely death occurred on Valentine's Day 1992, 
five days after his sixty-fourth birthday.

     I knew life without Lloyd would be difficult; the boat without him would be impossible. When I reached the sad conclusion that the only logical thing to do with the Keriann was to sell her, our three good friends Don Hoecker, and Ralph and Joann Zacharias offered to drive her back to Maryland to the marina where Lloyd and I had bought her.
     One day in early May I went down to Sylvan with Bob to clean out the Keriann. We removed the tarps and the wooden structure. We unlocked the wooden hatch. There inside were the things we had left for next season. 
     There were, of course, the things that are part of the standard equipment; the rudder placed neatly on an old sheet on the starboard bunk; a paddle lying on the V-berth at the bow, always readily available for fending off a dock, paddling into a tight spot, or pushing off a sandbar; the two white square life cushions, ready for throwing to someone in the water; the seventy-five foot emergency throwline; Lloyd;s blue down sleeping bag and a few blankets; the detailed Chesapeake Bay charts; and a couple of sailing magazines. The dependable little weather radio sat on the starboard shelf.
     Next to the radio on the shelf was Lloyd's small alarm clock, set for 6:30 a.m. for arising for work when he spent nights on board. The clock was still ticking faithfully, as if to announce that it was still ready to be of service to him. There were five or six life jackets, including one for Keriann when she, Amy, and Mark sailed with us. There were the pots for morning coffee and his favorite meal on board - Zuni stew, concocted from corn, baked beans, and Mexican salsa sauce. He enjoyed serving this to guests on the boat.
     There was the ship's log, begun by Lloyd on the 1989 trip, finished by me after the trip was abruptly ended by his heart attack and trip to the hospital in Maryland.
     His whistle and foghorn were there. Three blasts on either one signalled for the ranger at Moraine to come out to Mooring 64 in his small rubber raft and shuttle us to shore at the end of a sail. They also served as warnings to other sailors who might not see us.
     The cloth drawstring bag of dishes was neatly stowed in its compartment, along with the plastic box of silverware.
     Above the V-berth on both side walls Lloyd had attached large nets. In the net on the port side was his bright yellow rain suit, and in the one on the starboard side was mine. These were ready for sudden weather changes. When Lloyd said to put on rain gear and life jackets, I never questioned him. We both knew the potential dangers on the water, and we wanted to be prepared. Just below the nets were two life-lines, one for each of us.  
We used these only one time, the day a storm came up unexpectedly. We felt quite safe, our lines attached to the Keriann during the storm. It felt good to be prepared.
     Still fastened in place above my bunk was our AM-FM radio-tapedeck that Lloyd had installed only a year or so ago. We relaxed to the tunes of Mozart or Beethoven as the Keriann gently rocked in her slip at a marina at the end of a day.
     I was overcome with sadness as I sat in the boat and sorted out the things I'd take home and those that I'd leave. I threw away a few rags and old papers and plastic water bottles. I rearranged some things and took home some others. I cleaned the table, stove, and sink. I vacuumed the carpet and upholstery. I tried to make everything tidy and clean. I reflected on those wonderful trips we had enjoyed so much. I recalled how Lloyd loved sailing and how happy he was when he sailed. I thought about our pleasant gatherings in the seafood restaurants near the marinas, where each day we'd reflect on the day's sail as we'd enjoy a scrumptious dinner. I thought about Lloyd and the wonderful person he was and about how we all miss him. I thought about how fortunate I was to have shared thirty-two years with him. I reflected on the happiness he had given me. I thought about the sadness of losing him so suddenly and so soon, with so many hopes and dreams unfulfilled.
     On May 9, Ralph, Joann, Don, and I met at Sylvan at 7:30 in the morning, attached the Keriann to Ralph's truck, and drove in Ralph's and Don's vehicles to Maryland Marina, where one day someone with a passion for sailing and adventure will buy the Keriann and enjoy her as much as we did. I'm sure that's what Lloyd would want.

Abbie Geertz
July 1992