Our boats are so small

I almost didn't go to the annual blessing of the fleet. I have a sort of love-leave relationship with it. I love the service. I just can't always stay until the end, when it gets so sad. Also, when I woke up it was raining really hard on top of about two feet of snow, and the wind was making my beachfront house shake.

But I like public blessings, and the nautical-themed one the ministerial association uses is just about my all-time favorite, beginning with the most reasonable of prayers, "Dear God, have mercy on me. The sea is so wide and my boat is so small."

I like the idea of mercy. Also, the music is moving. The Haines A'cappella Women's Chorus, which I am in, helped lead the congregation in the first hymn. "Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of glory, God of love; hearts unfold like flowers before thee, opening to the sun above. Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away."

The rain had quit by then, but it was windy and gray down in the harbor parking lot.

The Presbyterian pastor welcomed everyone. He wore a ball cap, Carhartt coat and rubber boots. A visiting Catholic priest dressed all in black, including a jaunty beret. Along with other local clergy, they took turns reading scriptures and leading prayers.

Spring is hard for me. I've had some big blows in April. My own near miss and my mother's death. My annual visit to the doctor, the one where I tell him I am dying, is always in April. Last year it was a bump in my armpit that was lymphoma. (Negative.) The year before it was a nub on my palate that was a tumor. (Nope.) The year before that it was a killer blood clot in my leg. I even flew to Juneau for an ultra-sound exam. (Nada.)

Still, when I noticed a tiny bump on my stomach recently, I prepared to write a will. The third time I called attention to it, my daughter said, "Have you looked at the calendar?"

That's when I decided I really should attend the blessing, because at the very least, I could use one.

Our choir sang, "Dona Nobis Pacem" (Give us Peace), the Navy hymn, and an ancient prayer set to music called "God Be in My Head." It concludes, "God be in my heart and in my thinking. God be at mine end and at my departing."

After that we all prayed, "For those who watch and work on behalf of others, especially our fire department and ambulance crews ... help them to meet the needs of those in danger with compassion and confidence."

Anne Lamott wrote that we should treat everyone as if they were fellow patients in an emergency room. We don't have a hospital in Haines, so maybe the best way to accomplish that here is to pretend we are all in the ambulance.

Fireman Al Badgley drove the one that picked me up five Aprils ago after I was run over by a truck. He really was compassionate and confident, which probably saved my life. I looked around, but didn't see him.

The blessing was going better than I had hoped, until the Catholic deacon began to read the names of everyone who died in 2009 and the first part of 2010. I checked the wind-flapped program. There were forty-eight. I'd written just about all of their obituaries. A dozen were friends. Our choir had sung at one funeral.

With each name, and each ringing bell, a palm frond was carried up to the front and dropped in a laundry basket. Later, a fisherman would drop them in the inlet.

For many names there was a crowd of friends and family. But when the deacon called a name that drew no palm givers, someone quickly took one up for them. One young Native girl, who had died of the swine flu in Juneau, leaving a baby behind, had a whole handful of these impromptu mourners. I wished we could have done as much for her when she was alive.

Then, the names of everyone in Haines who had ever died at sea (or in rivers, lakes, or swimming holes) were called, all thirty-three of them. As the church bell clanked slowly in the chilly breeze, I didn't need a poet to remind me for whom it tolled.

I wasn't planning on staying for refreshments in the parish hall, but I was so cold (I had removed my mittens to hold the music and the program) that I had to warm up before walking home. I held a paper cup of hot tea until my fingers thawed.