My John...

Forty seven years ago, Lake Huron claimed my husband. He was a deckwatch on the SS Daniel J. Morrell, which was lost in a storm on the lake on November 29, 1966. They were on the last run of the season, heading towards Taconite Harbor when they were caught in a terrible storm that sheared the huge freighter in two. Most of the men jumped to their deaths as the ship broke apart, while the rest headed to the bow and waited for it to go down.

They were forced into the water when the aft of the ship - engines still somehow running - rammed the bow, and continued on into the night, only to sink five miles away. There was one survivor - a young man named Dennis Hale - but all the rest of the crew was lost. Of those, most of the bodies were recovered, but my John was never found.

He was 21 at the time, and I was 19. We'd been married just a few months before, and were happily anticipating the start of our lives together. Buying a house, starting a family...we knew that sailing the Lakes was a dangerous job, but John loved it and jokingly referred to himself as the Lord of the Lake, and that I was his Lady. He was romantic that way. We loved to walk the beach, and watch the storms as they blew in over the water, to see the fog banks roll across its surface. And in the summer, we'd swim in the warm water near the shore.

After I lost my John, I was inconsolable for a long while. The shipping company did their part, giving me a pension that was enough to live on, but the first couple of months after the wreck I wouldn't have described what I was doing as living. I retreated into myself and wouldn't see anyone, even my family. Eventually I came out of my shell, and got a job at the grocery store working as a checker. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

My parents got me a puppy the following spring, hoping that having some company would help me heal. That little beagle was a godsend, and it was love at first sight. I named him Jojo, after John. When summer came around, I even managed to venture to the shore of the lake that took my husband away from me, bringing the pup with me. Jojo bounded onto the beach and chased the birds that dotted the sand sending them flying away indignantly. As he headed towards the water I frantically called him back, and put on his leash. We walked into the water together, and I monitored him to make sure he couldn't go out too far.

At one point, he just stopped in his tracks. I looked out over the water and noticed an odd bank of fog along the horizon, and out of this bank came a small boat with a lone passenger in it. Jojo's hackles were up, but he didn't growl at the sight, he just watched. I waved at the boat, but the person manning it didn't wave back. The fog bank came towards the shore, shrouding the boat, and when it dissipated the small vessel was gone.

Jojo went back to bounding in the water, and I breathed in sharply realizing that I'd been holding my breath. A heaviness that had seemed to settle over the scene lifted as the sun broke through, burning off the last wisps of fog.

As the next decade passed, I had gone to school and was now working as a paralegal. I had fallen in love with a court clerk named Allen. We married in 1974, but it didn't last. I found I was unable to have children, and the sorrow that overcame me from that news tore my marriage apart.

Jojo was still with me, although he was a little slower and stiffer. But he still loved the lake, so one day not long after my divorce was finalized, I took him down to the shore. We waded into the water and splashed around. I had a frisbee that I'd throw, and he'd take off after it. After a while he was tuckered out, so we sat on the beach and basked in the afternoon sun. I had brought a bag lunch with me and some biscuits for Jojo, and as we ate I noticed another odd bank of fog form on the horizon.

"Well would you look at that," I murmured. At the sound of my voice Jojo looked up at me, then in the direction of my gaze. He acted much the way he did the first time...hackles up, but silent. Out of the fog the small boat appeared, again with a lone passenger. The boat was a bit closer this time so I waved, and this time the figure waved back. Then the fog enfolded the boat, and it was gone.

I pondered what I'd seen. One time was odd, two times suggested a pattern. I didn't really believe in ghosts, but with the vast history of shipwrecks on the Lakes, it would almost seem stranger NOT to see one eventually. I thought for a brief moment that maybe it was my John. At that thought I burst into tears, and Jojo snuggled up against me to comfort me. I picked him up and held him against me - warm and real - and buried my face in his fur. His familiar doggy smell calmed me down, and when I'd gotten myself together we headed for home.

I saw the boat again three years later. It was 1979, and Jojo had become old and arthritic. One night he suffered a seizure, and I rushed him to the animal hospital, but it was too late. My baby was gone. The Vet arranged for him to be cremated, and a few days later I received the ashes in the mail with a note of condolence. I sat and held them for about an hour, then I knew what I had to do.

I headed for the lakeshore to spread his ashes over the water that he'd loved so much. The autumn wind was chilly, and the water even colder, but I waded into it anyway. As I opened the canister and sprinkled the ashes around me, the fog rolled in. Not so odd for this time of year, but when the boat appeared it was even closer than before, and I could see that the passenger was a man, but couldn't make out his features. This time he waved first, and with tears in my eyes I waved back.

Out of nowhere I yelled "Take good care of him!" and the man seemed to nod before the boat disappeared.

I didn't see the boat or the man for many years. Life moved on, and trips to the shore were uneventful. I didn't remarry, I didn't own another pet, I just made peace with being alone. In 1992, my mother passed away at the age of 71. She'd had Alzheimer's, and I'd moved in with my Dad in order to help take care of her. It was difficult for both of us to watch her decline, and the day after the funeral he asked for some time to be alone. So I told him I was going to the shore, and would be back in an hour or so to make him some dinner. We hugged for a long time, and then he went into his office. When I left he was reading a book by the fire.

I wondered if I'd see the boat, as it always seemed to appear to me during times of crisis in my life. I had put a small pair of binoculars in my purse just in case. As I walked the beach, I watched the water out of the corner of my eye, begging silently in my head for it to materialize. Just as I was about to give up and go home, the fog rolled in and the boat appeared. I dug out my binoculars and trained them on the boat and gasped. It was my John. And with him was Jojo.

Overcome with emotion, I fell to my knees in the sand. "Take me with you," I whispered, "I'm so tired, John, please come closer."

I looked out at the boat, and John sadly shook his head. I understood...it wasn't my time yet. I still had a ways to go before we could be reunited. I nodded at him and waved with a sad smile. As the fog rolled in and the boat vanished, I heard a familiar joyful bark, and let out a laugh mixed with a sob, happy that John now had my beloved pup to keep him company on his journeys, wherever it was they went.

I saw them again after my father passed in 1997. This time the boat was close enough that I could see them both clearly. John was as handsome as ever, and Jojo was in his prime, with bright eyes and tail wagging. I didn't cry this time, just smiled at them and said, "I love you both."

John smiled back, and the boat vanished, as it usually does.

With the inheritance from my parents I was able to retire early, and I kept busy traveling, and doing volunteer work. The freedom was exhilarating, and I was the happiest I'd been in a long time. I kept so busy that when I started to feel a little run down last year, I didn't think much of it and simply took some time off to recharge. But instead of feeling better, I continued to feel fatigued and began to have horrible abdominal pains.

A visit to the doctor led to a visit to the oncologist, who determined that I had ovarian cancer. The organs that had betrayed me by never letting me have children, had turned on me once again.

So, I had surgery two months ago, and it was worse than they thought. The cancer had metastasized, and my whole abdominal cavity was spotted with tumors. When they broke the news and began to discuss treatment options, I held up my hand to stop them. I asked them how long I would have if I refused treatment, and they told me that I probably had three months. I asked them to leave me alone for a bit so that I could think about it, but of course, I already knew what I was going to do.

Which leads us to tonight...I called a cab, and asked the driver to take me to the lake. My fare is paid, I've made it down to the beach, and the boat is here. John and Jojo are at the water's edge waiting for me. I'm ready to go, and I'm not afraid. If you find this, know that I made this decision out of my own free will.

Tonight I go into the water for the last time, but I am happy, and I am not alone. Goodbye.

Officer's notes: This note was found next to the body of Evelyn Groh, 65, of Grand Bend, Ontario. An autopsy has been performed, and it has been determined that she died of abdominal cancer. Foul play was not involved, and there was no evidence that anyone else was at the scene at the time of her death. There will be no further investigation, and this case is considered closed.

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Author's note: While there was a John Groh on the SS Daniel J. Morrell who was 21 when it sank, and who's body was never found, the story I built around him is a work of fiction.  This story was inspired by the song "The Ghost on the Shore" by Lord Huron.