Lessons from a sinking ship
"I don't want you to worry, but our cruise ship is filling with water and we're sinking," my father said in a voice that could not mask his concern. Scrawling furiously in hasty print, I took down the information they dictated: "Cruise ship" as in the Sea Diamond, Louis Cruises, in Greece at Santorini, an [cruise ship] accident a half hour ago, the ship tilting at 30 degrees - sinking. "Contact the State Department, the U.S. Embassy," my father instructed. "Tell them the ship is sinking. There are U.S. citizens aboard. This is not a drill."
"James, I love you very much," my mother said, taking the cell phone with audible tears. "I want you to know if I don't make it that you need to take care of your brothers." As my mother finished, from the background noise of terror and confusion, it seemed as if evil itself was emerging. It had come to consume my parents. Then came the most haunting sound of all: silence.
Staring at the disconnected call on my phone monitor, I was captured by a singular concentration and visceral need to do everything I could to save my parents. I must contact the State Department. I cannot take "no" for an answer. I have to talk to a supervisor. I have to find the number to the U.S. Embassy in Greece. I have to talk to the diplomat in charge. I need them to get out there. I need them to do something.
When I had done all that I could do, I was left with the terrifying realization that the conversation I had with my parents could be our last. My parents' words seemed wholly reminiscent of the fleeting cell phone goodbyes on Sept. 11. Their emotion seemed to emulate the last notes of severed love discovered over the broken bodies of airplane crash victims. With the terrible combination of imagination and fear taking hold, I saw my parents as a trite punchline to a tragic news segment ready to be aired. It felt so frightening. It felt so wrong. It felt so unfair.
They say you find religion in moments of great difficulty. In truth, you don't just find religion, you find God. You want to believe. All doubt is washed away by the gripping need for a savior. You fall to your knees and beg him in every prayer you can recite. Beg him to use his almighty power. Beg him to save. Beg him to make things right again.
My prayers were answered. My father was able to find a child-sized life jacket for my mother and to fight off a grown man from stealing it. My parents were able to stay aboard the tilting ship. They were to able to brave the darkened corridors of the lower deck, blindly holding the collars of those in front of them. They were able to make it down a rope ladder, onto a boat, and to safety.
My parents are home now, alive and ironically worried that their jetlagged biological clocks will deprive them of their weekly dose of 24. They count themselves among the fortunate. Cherishing their survival, they resolve to say everything they always meant but never had a complete opportunity to express: how much they loved their sons.
The lesson I have taken is not to avoid cruise ships, but remember that we are all mortal. Each of us will all be helpless to escape the shadow of death when our time has come. Out of our vulnerability, we must not stand paralyzed, afraid to experience the world. Instead, we should remember to live in the happiness of the present.
The miracle of life has so much to offer: the wave of a friend, the embrace of a family member, the kiss of a loved one, the joy of dreams achieved.
Ultimately, we must live with the realization that each day is a gift, the understanding of what is genuinely important, and, above all, the intention to ensure that those we love know that they are loved. This is how we experience life. This is how we find happiness.
By: James Ng
The Heights
