Valletta, Malta

After our quick split from the turbulent waters of Split, we’re on our way to Malta. With the extra day, we were to have a leisurely sail down the Adriatic, but this morning the captain comes on the PA system to say we have a medical emergency and are moving full out and will get in at five tonight. All are on deck as we pull into the beautiful golden limestone colored port.
The gangway is lowered, the officials rush onboard to clear the ship, the ambulance speeds up to the gangway. We all wait to see who will be brought off on a stretcher. A woman, with a leopard skin hat pulled down over her ears, lies perfectly still under a stark white sheet. Her eyes are closed. They load her into the back of the ambulance. I can only see the bottom part of her body. I can’t see if she’s breathing. Her feet are uncovered. I see her toes move. I will the ambulance attendant to cover her feet. I still always need my feet covered in bed—a holdover from when I was a child and thought that snakes lived under the bed and would slither up and bite my toes if they were exposed. He covers her toes. I’m thinking how frightening to be alone and to be taken off the ship by strangers in a foreign country. Then a man, most likely her husband, comes off the ship and climbs into the ambulance. How lucky for her to have someone who cares. How sad and scary for him to see his love so still and vulnerable.
We take advantage of this extra evening in Malta. We stroll under the arch at the entrance to the walled city and walk the streets. Everything looks so much more interesting and beautiful when I think of the woman struggling for her life and realize that ‘there but for the grace of God go I’. If I knew this was my last day on this beautiful earth, I’d stay totally awake, not wanting to miss a thing. I’d be grateful for my blessings. I don’t want to fall asleep and miss the moment.