Ice Floes

By Linda Drury

I look over a slightly choppy sea. It is a dark day, fog lifted an hour ago. The wind is cutting, not strong, but slicing my face. I am choosing just the right one. I need an ice floe. It has to be wide enough, roomy even. It has to be thick and buoyant. I measure how the floes bob on the light chop of this cold sea.

Which one is close enough to the shore for me to harness? Which one is the safest for my needs?  

I had considered the ice floes for use in winters past.  Most of my days were interesting specks on the winter sea.  Again as in my childhood, I need one.

With my young, sharp eyes I help to select the perfect floe. My Pop was so sick. He struggled to breathe and to keep his head erect and proud. He worked so hard not to fall to his weakening heart. I can see him with his head down on the kitchen table. He did not want to burden his young family. Pop was so generous, he would not cripple us with worry and grief.

As a girl, I helped my mom and brother stand on the shore and choose an ice floe. We dropped Dad at the hospital door. Women and men in white would collect him and with quiet voices lead him away.   

Would I see him again? Do these white dressed people know how to tend to my Dad? Maybe I will not see him in this world.

He could pass with the strangers all around. Perhaps he will die in a dark room alone. Only his God can hold him. Only God will protect and care for him. We put him on the ice floe.  

We will be brave. We will not break or stop the march of life. Whether my Pop lives or dies, we must go on. He would back this plan. He would peacefully drift away on the floe to heaven.

My husband is feverish, eyes cloudy. His breath is raspy and uneven. He cannot stay. I must cull him from the herd. We cannot get sick, he has to go!

I stand on the cold shore. A woman in white beckons my loved one onto the ice floe. He turns his hanging head, and leans on her. He steps onto the floe. I see him no more.

I have not given him over to the chilled waters, or the arms of the woman in white. I have turned him over to the hand of God. Only He can hold my dear one safe and whole in the endless sea.