Nederland, Texas.

January 1998.

“Mom, don’t tell Dad, please, he’ll kill me,” pleads Krissi.

“You should have thought of that before,” I yell, as I’ve taken to doing with her over the last year.

The phone rings around 9.30 pm like it does every night, and as I pick up, Krissi slams the door and stomps up to her bedroom. 

She had been a sweetheart kid… until she turned 13.

“Hi Jan,” Kippy says, in that deep, laidback voice of his. “How are you and the kids today?”

My voice catches in my throat as I fight the tears.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” he presses, his voice even softer now.

“It’s Krissi. But it’ll wait till you get home.”

“Jan, come on now. You can’t leave me hanging like that,” he says.

He’s right, so I just spit it out.

“Our baby girl’s pregnant, Kip.”

And both of us start to cry.

*****

John Kipling Savoy was a Tankerman on a five-man tugboat out of Houston.

He’d fill up the cargo barges with different chemicals and they’d ship them around the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway.

He worked 20 days on, 10 days off, and was heading to be a captain.

We became sweethearts in high school and married soon after.

I soon gave birth to Krissi, then we had a gap of almost 7 years before we had Dillon, then another 3 to Craig.

When the kids played up, I was the one yelling “What the heck are you doing? You’re grounded!”

Kippy was the firm but soft hand.

He loved woodworking out in the garage with all the kids helping. 

Krissi was a real Daddy’s girl, and they’d talk for hours.

When she was 12 she took a wrong turn to drugs.

We knew she was seeing a boy, but she said he was her age.

Turns out he was 17.

I worried Kip would think him old enough to take what was coming to him.
*****

A few days after that call, Kip comes home for his shore leave.

Me and Krissi watch him come up the driveway with his old duffel bag over his shoulder.

A scowl replaced his cheeky grin.

“No matter what he says, remember your Daddy loves you, sweetheart,” I say to Krissi who fidgets beside me.

Kippy drops his duffel bag, goes straight over to Krissi, and hugs her tight.

She cries into his chest, and he holds her even tighter.

*****

If there’s an emotion that didn’t come up over the next 10 days, I haven’t heard about it.

I’d never seen Kippy so mad.

He paced back and forth, swearing he’d do this and that to the boy who did this to his little girl.

In the end all he did was write nasty things about him on the kids’ scribble wall. 

He wanted to take Krissi for an abortion.

But I just couldn’t bear to think of what that might do to Krissi’s little soul.

I’d rather give the child up for adoption.

And after days of arguments and threats and floods of tears, Kippy had calmed himself enough to say:

“Well, we’ll just deal with it as it comes.”

*****

“Jan, come sit down. I want to talk to you,” says Kippy the night before he’s due back on the boat.

“I’m cleaning the kitchen, what do you want?” I reply impatiently, like you do after 17 years of marriage.

“Come sit down. Please.”

Something in his tone made me sit beside him.  

“If something happens to me, I want you to know what I want,” he says.

He had never brought this up before.  

“Are you thinking of killing yourself?” I ask in full-on sarcastic mode.

“Of course not,” he replies, shocked.  

“Then why bring this up? You're 36 years old, for heaven’s sake!” I say.

“No “Amazing Grace” at the funeral,” he says. “I want “Go Rest High on That Mountain” by Vince Gill.”

“This is ridiculous, I’m not listening to this,” I say, but he plows on.

“Don’t bury me in a suit, Jan,” he says.

“I’ve never seen you in a suit in my life, Kippy, why would I bury you in one?” I say, trying not to laugh.

“I want a wood casket,” he continues. “And no roses or carnations. I want Birds of Paradise on my grave.”

I lie awake for a long time that night.

*****
Next morning at 6 am I drive Kippy the two hours to Houston in silence.

As we near the dock, he starts to cry.

“I don’t want to go back, Jan,” he says.

Kippy doesn’t call in sick, and Kippy doesn’t cry.  

“We need the insurance to pay for the baby, Kippy,” I say gently. “If you want to look for another job, fine, and I’ll look for work too but don’t jump ship. Not now.”

He nods his head, knowing I’m right but wishing I was wrong.

He gets out of the car with tears rolling down his eyes.

“I love you,” he says gently and closes the door.

As I watch my loving husband get smaller in the rearview, I’ve never been so torn up about leaving him behind.

*****
At 11.15 pm that night I wake and sit bolt upright in my bed.

Something feels very wrong, so I call my sister.

“What happened Jan?” she says with a sleepy voice, thinking it must be serious.  

“Nothing,” I reply. “Must have had a bad dream or something.”

“You sure you’re okay?” she says, more awake now.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I called,” and I hang up.
*****

Next morning at 7 am there’s a knock at the door.

I see a Tahoe parked in the driveway.

Krissi had a friend stay over the night before, so I figured on even more mischief.

“Is that the police at my door? What kind of trouble did y'all do last night?” I ask them.

“Nothing Mom,” pleads Krissi. “We stayed here all night. Promise!”

“Y’all better not be lying to me. We’ve had enough of that around here,” I say as I open the door.

But it’s not the police.

It’s my husband’s good friend Kenny, the captain of another boat.

I shake my head and I yell at him:
“No, Kenny. You know what we’re dealing with here,” and I shut the door on him.

But Kenny pushes the door open and tells me what I already knew.

“Kippy went missing at 10.15 last night. We found his drowned body at 11.15.”
*****
Did Kippy pass through on his way to heaven when I sat straight up in bed that night?
I’ll never know.

He was found face-up in the water with his life vest on.

The cause of death was drowning.

No heart attack, no brain bleed, no stroke.

The Coast Guard and the FBI investigated and ruled it an accident.

Kippy was the grounding under my feet, and when he passed a huge dark hole opened up and I fell in.

And I stayed there for some time, unable to crawl out.

I prayed to God for strength because I couldn’t even raise my arm for help.

Eventually, He shone the light in the dark and my strength came from him.

For a long time, I blamed myself for sending Kippy back to work that day.

But I learned I’m not powerful enough to make those decisions.

The challenges for our family were just beginning, but just like Kippy said, we deal with it as it comes.