This Life I Hand You Over To Him

On her deathbed, our son leaned over the railing of the hospital bed and asked Elena if she had any regrets left in this life.

Tears pooled in the hollows of her aged cheeks. Her voice was barely a rasp when she whispered that her only true regret was never making it onto that ferry.

A sudden, tearing pain cleaved through my chest.

Fifty years ago, the three of us had planned a weekend trip across the bay. When Elena suddenly passed out at the pier, I panicked, speeding her to the nearest emergency room while Nate boarded the boat alone. That night, the vessel capsized in a storm.