Ohh, Marc, I miss you SO damned much!!! How can time fly so blasted fast until I have something I'm waitin' for; YOU during crab season on the Great Bering? Time takes on the personality of a slug. The second hand goes into slow motion, and the minutes drag out as if they were hours. I count the days over and over. Three months from today...9:00 a.m. Three months from today...noon. Three months from today...3:00, 5:00, 10:00, I'm thinking the same thing. I know this kind of thinking just makes it worse, but I can't seem to stop. All I can think about is having you by my side again, right here by the lighthouse, safe and sound wrapped up with me in a blanket.
Every season it's the same thing: I'm wondering if the boat's encountering weather, are you finding the crab, is the Arctic ice coming down too quickly, are you getting too caught up with the catch and getting into increasing danger? Are there any engine problems on the boat, or any injuries on deck? How high have the waves been that you've encountered, what storms, have you lost a line of pots? All of the "stuff" you and I have gone through over the years. I always dread the approach of the opening day of the season, and I'm always immensely happy when you're home. I used to ask myself, why can't you be happy with a "sane" career, Marc? But I no longer ask...not after the third year. I thought you'd wear out, that you would soon "have enough," but that has never happened. This life means everything to you. It's been 22 years. How much longer?
It was a double-edged sword when the kids were growing up. On the one hand, I was so busy most of the time, the preoccupation I suffer now, I didn't have time for then. On the other, I did wonder how we could live without you, them without a Dad and me a widow if anything were to happen to you. We just couldn't communicate often enough for me to be reassured.
I'm 40 and you're 43; plenty of time to start something new. We have the cash. You won't. I've done everything but hit you over the head to make you sit up and pay attention. You suddenly develop selective hearing.
Time to tear this one out of the notebook and throw it into the surf like the hundreds before it. I'll never be able to change you, and if I did, I probably wouldn't love you. You're rugged, tough, strong, fearless, and independent. You've spoiled me for anything else. God be with you, my love.
Always yours, always praying,
Elisse
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