Maybe sometimes, when it is dark outside, you are laying in bed. Cannot find sleep. Thoughts are flying around in your head. Thoughts on the past. On things you´ve done. Maybe on things you haven´t done as well. Like casting off. Like throwing away the land lines at last, like breaking free, setting sails and sail away. At least you know people who always talk about this, regretting, catives of their sorrows. Mourning their youth. Well. Welcome to the club. This weekend life had me again. Sometimes it´s like this. I thought you´d might like to read this story. It is about my dad. The fighter jet pilot.
My father passed on almost half a year ago. Aged 75, too soon one would say. Roughly a year before his death I had made these pictures. Visiting my parents again in summer with my kids, I thought it might be a cool occasion taking my father and my kids to his fomer Air Force base, conveniently located just a village away from where they lived. From where I used to grow up. It was an interesting day. A happy day. One of the jets he used to fly, the MiG 21, is on display there, along with helicopters and all sorts of military equipment showcasing the realities of the Cold War. The realities of what used to be a part of my childhood as well. For my kids, growing up in (relative) peace, of course, this was a great day, fun, exciting, something to be proud of. Taking place on the very jump seat, their grand daddy used to be strapped to, dashing through the skies with double the speed of sound.
One pictures is particularly … well … haunting? Or maybe, telling: My dad, whilst explaining a turbofan jet engine and after burner to my kids, points into to dark abyss. What a fateful picture. A few months later, as the eerie and strange devine play of life and death goes, he ceased to exist. Weeks and months of mourning, of talking, of trying to find explanations, follow. Weeks of crying. Of healing. As it is in all of us, I guess, that is the true difference between being young, being a child maybe, and becoming grown up: The realization that of the finitie nature of one´s own existance. In this:
Life is (shockingly) short!
I´d never had thought that my dad would die. Of course not! Though factually knowing and understanding that all life must end some day, the idea that this energetic, enigmatic, strong man would be fading away eventually wasn´t something my brain was capable of processing. My father, the fighter jet pilot, personal friend of the first German citizen to ever fly into space, test-pilot of MiG-jets himself, the man who who did the tiliing repairs on their house himself aged 72, couldn´t simply die. Yet. He did. And we have to cope with it. Everybody does by his own means, I guess.
My oldest brothers (we are three boys at home with me being the youngest) for example arranged a memorial wall at home. Featuring all of the airplanes my father used to fly in his career, true to the tye and varient and even to the registry tail number of his planes. My other brother is caring for my mom in the most heartwarming and loving way you can imagine. And me? Well. I had to cope with this first. Which was hard.
Sailing. And Dads.
I guess I am the most „creative“ of us three brothers, maybe. I don´t know, but my mother asked me to do th eulogy on my father´s funeral. It was a huge burden. A huge honor. And probably the most important, the most complicated and most hard to compose text of my whole life. Being true to my own memories of my father but also serving those of all who attended, of all who knew him. Like his comrades, his military friends, ex-colleagues. Like his brother and sister, like my own brothers who of course know him much differentl from me. And of course, serving my dear mom, who lost her best friend. Her beloved husband. Her lifelong lover and soulmate.
Now, with almost half a year that has passed since then, wounds start to heal. Nevertheless, my own age – I will be 46 in a few weeks – is much more apparent, to a most part because of this event. My father did not bring me to sailing of influenced me to become a sailor myself too much, nevertheless, I have some pretty strong and maybe deciding memories of him connected to boats. The pictures above were made by him: It was his 40iest birthday. Family vacation, Lake Balaton in Hungary. His wish: Taking a small dinghy sailboat out onto the lake. I remember my mother saying that he did not even had a sailing certificate, in full disbelief we would survive this venture. My daddy smiled, answered with one of his all-time favorite quotes.
„There´s nothing a German officer cannot do!“, he used to say in reference to immortal Gerd Froebe´s role of Colonel von Holstein in the „Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines“, a prime classic and top 3 movie in our family. Of course we did not sink, we obvioulsy didn´t die. Instead, we´d had a great day out sailing the beautiful Lake Balaton. I will never forget my daddy telling me that a sailboat was basically no different from an airplane, except tilted 90 degrees … I try to be a sailing dad myself too. Taking my kids with me as many times as I can, trying to excite them for sailing, or, at least, create unforgettable memories. So, that said, why do I write this article?
Missed chances.
A few weeks ago I receive a call from my mom. A somber tone in her almost faint voice. Apparently, as part of the big „clean up“ of their house, she went through another big closet in the basement of their house. There, initially hidden by some clothing on coat hangers, obstructed from direct view and thus not seen initially, she found a rucksack. It was very lightweight, nevertheless, fully packed. Eager to see what was inside, she opened it.
There, neatly packed, she found a brand new set of Tribord sailcloth. A waterproof sailing trousers, a softshell sailing jacket. Brand new shiny white sailing shoes and another pair of extreme lightweight sports slippers. My father, as it seems, has prepared himself to go sailing with me. Unfortunately he never did. He never asked, he never insisted, never mentioned. Just prepared. My mother almost cried, telling me about her findings on the phone. And I couldn´t help keep my eyes dry too.
Now. My father was a very proud man. He seldom asked for something. He was a man of action: He did it himseld, or he didn´t. We often talked about sailing, he even commented on some of my posts here on this website. Little did I know. No hint, no mention, let alone, no question. Had I known about his rucksack, I´d come an get him aboard my boat, of course! Sailed with him, a day, or two. But I did not. I lived my life as they lived theirs. Talking, on the phone, meeting each other occasionally. But never taking part in our lives too deeply. I´ve had my job, my family. My life. And I didn´t had the senses to detect his desire, his wish. And he? Maybe too proud. Maybe too disappointed, maybe too much „later“?
Let´s use our time left!
As I said, everybody deals with this on his own way. Taken off from the beautiful urn my dad´s remains had been buried in a wonderful forest near one another Air Force base near my family´s home, my mother a few weeks ago showed me two small plastic bags with his ashes. Apart from the very awkward feeling of holding this dust, his very remains, in my hands, I had this little idea. Just a small gesture, but it kind of brought some peace to me, at least, a bit.
With a small paper-cone I divided the ashes into three parts and filled them into little stainless steel tubes. One, of course, was for my mom. One for my eldest brother. And one is for me. A small, two centimeters tube with a few grams of my father, representing the last matter of my father, the last tangible and concrete proof that he once really was. Carbon, or „star dust“, as my kids use to say. This tube now hangs around his picture in my own flat, but that is only a temporary location.
Once my new boat is finished and floating, I will relocate this small tube aboard. There, I don´t know as of now where exactly, but surely somewhere in the salon I am sure, this metal tube will receive its final resting place. I know, it is only a small gesture and surely this will in now way make up for the missed chance of sailing together with my father when he was still around, when he was still alive. But I kind of like the idea that at least some of his matter will be with me from that day on – where ever I will sail, what ever adventrues we will have, storms we ride and sunrises we´ll witness, something of him will be with me.
Now. To you. Well, take your chance! Cast off! Throw away the land lines, push away the boat from the safety of the pier. Go out, set sails and do the things you only talk about. All the things you want to do later. When its more convenient. When there´s enough money. When this and that is better. The lesson life has taught me since my dad passed on, at least for me, is, that mostly there is a lot less time left than we think. Don´t wait. Don´t just pack your rucksack and put it into the back of the closet. Take it out!
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